


I, Phil

by amireal



Series: Phil(is) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Everyone does one of these too, F/M, Genderfuck, Honestly I'm shocked I managed it, M/M, Marriage, Other, Romance, forced gender change, sexual identity questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/pseuds/amireal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Phil paced, mostly. Apparently women's pants were meant to drape decoratively about the shoe area. Even sweats. He found mostly all that did was trip him and get dirty. Also his center of gravity was off."</p><p>Or</p><p>What's the first thing you do when you find out some mad scientist's contraption has turned you into a woman? Why go have sex of course. Oh if only it were that simple. Phil usually wished his life was actually that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay wow. First completed fic over 5k in about 6 years or so. That's a big deal here. That I'm leaping in with this is sort of par for course. Thank you to bead, BethBethBeth and elandrialore for listening to me whine about this, nattering at and with me and for risking your eyes on my terrible comma problem. See the end for plot based notes including 2 trigger warnings.
> 
> This is a complete story, just on a posting schedule. It'll probably be one chapter every 2 days. It's only 4 chapters long so it'll be quick and painless. I swear.
> 
> Timeline: Assuming Avengers takes place in 2013 this is approx 5 - 7 years before that.

Phil paced, mostly. Apparently women's pants were meant to drape decoratively about the shoe area. Even sweats. He found mostly all that did was trip him and get dirty. Also his center of gravity was off.

The click of a door opening to his left startled him and his feet tangled. Again. Only this time he found himself plastered against the firm but yielding wall that was Clint Barton’s chest. “I was gonna let you pace yourself out,” Clint’s voice was more vibration than noise with Phil’s ear pressed against his chest, “but Mrs. Feldman down the hall is a paranoid one.”

His face heated but composed Phil pushed away from Clint’s chest and straightened, happy to find that he wasn’t actually that much shorter than he was used to. Just… hippy-er. “I.. Uh..” Words caught in his throat and Clint jerked his head back towards his apartment before turning. Phil followed.

He waited for Phil to precede him into the apartment and then closed the door after them. “They let you eat before releasing you into the wild?”

Phil grimaced. “Yes, they wanted… pictures… of my insides during normal activities.”

Clint sympathy grimaced. “Augh, never had that one before.”

“You’ve never been turned into a woman before.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud and all it did was make him feel even more off center.

“And I cannot tell you how quickly I rethought my general feelings on my own brand of everyday luck.”

Phil laughed. “Yeah, I admit, this is pretty weird.” He spent some time examining his fingers, he kept doing that, they were thinner, more tapered. “Why did you come back here?”

“Instead of the base quarters?” Clint asked. 

Phil nodded.

“You were gonna be stuck in medical for a while and I needed to clean out the fridge and restock. Hill’s got me on trainee duty this semester,” Clint said. “And I get why you couldn’t go back to yours, but why didn’t you stay in your quarters?”

“Gawkers.”

Clint laughed. “Right.” He went to the kitchen and snagged a loose beer from the fridge door. “Want one?”

“No.”

Clint took a long pull before sitting down on the sofa. “After this, Fury’s gonna have a lot harder time saying no to the pre-emptive sex pollen paperwork.”

Phil laughed again. “I sometimes think legal doesn’t have enough to do.” The sofa looked comfortable, but he resisted sitting down, it was one action that really reminded him of the changes, then again, he was here. He sighed and sat.

“So,” Clint offered a pillow, “why were you pacing? You’re welcome here any time.” He made a broad gesture to his small, but cozy apartment. “And I know you’ve picked the locks at least a half dozen times over the years.”

The pillow was shoved into the small of Phil’s back, where he now arched strangely against flat surfaces. He did not at all look at Clint’s arms. “I was thinking about asking you a question.”

Clint’s eyebrows moved in an incredibly expressive gesture.

He sighed and shifted nervously. “An incredibly inappropriate, out of line, beyond the pale, completely wrong question.”

“Well now,” Clint smiled, sipping his beer, “those are my favorite kind.”

Phil breathed, willing all of the tension and fear out with the air. “When I joined SHIELD, it wasn’t because there was a dearth of other offers,” he explained, “it was because I knew something about the previous organization that eventually became SHIELD and I knew that SHIELD kept a lot of the same core mandates.”

Clint sipped his beer and made a ‘go on’ gesture.

“SHIELD, quite simply, was meant to associate with the extraordinary,” Phil said, remembering the feeling of hope he’d had when signing his employment contract, “the amazing and the wondrous. SHIELD was about what didn’t fit and exploring the places others couldn’t or wouldn’t.”

“That explains me then,” Clint smiled wryly.

“It really doesn’t,” Phil said automatically but softened it with a half smile. “When I finally woke up, really woke up, not just in a hazy state brought on by pain and dehydration, I panicked.” He remembered that first look at himself in the hospital gown, which Phil had a regular dislike for a on a good day, but in that moment it was a dress. A terrible, ill fitting dress on a body that wasn’t his. “They had to sedate me.”

Next to him, Clint covered a pained noise with another sip from the bottle in his hands. “I should have been there.”

Phil shook his head. “No, I could barely handle Natasha. It’s fine, I didn’t panic for long. One of the lab assistants, Karen I think her name was, she took to talking out loud while she was in the same room as me. I think it’s because I broke the finger of the first person who touched me without warning.” He shrugged sheepishly at Clint’s laugh, “Eventually though, she said something that stuck with me.”

“What?”

“That,” Phil said slowly, “in some ways, I was the most privileged human being on earth.”

Clint frowned. “How?”

“Because there are things I can experience completely first hand that absolutely no one else could. That if it weren’t so deeply classified, sociologists and biologists and anthropologists and whatever other PhD with an ist at the end you can think of would pay their entire year’s grant money to ask me a single question.”

“Huh,” Clint’s head tilted to the side, “I guess so.” Then he laughed, just a small little huff of air. “Man, you could answer the ultimate question.”

“Which is?”

“What hurts more, childbirth or a kick to the crotch.”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to five. “Unless a kick to the crotch could last upwards of days with constant pain fluctuations, I think I can already answer that.”

“Fair enough,” Clint said shrugging, “so what was the question?”

“I think I should have sex.”

Whatever it was Clint was expecting, it wasn’t that, as evidenced by the choking sounds he made after inhaling his beer. After some coughing and wheezed breathing and Clint looked at Phil in shock. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Phil said from behind his hands, which were now covering his flaming face, “I just feel like, I think that,” he stopped, the words wouldn’t form, it was partially why he had been pacing in the first place. Of all the possibilities of differing experiences, this was the one he really wanted to try. He wanted to try this, for a lot of reasons, none of which he could articulate, properly either because of embarrassment or the idea of just wanting to was too vague to sound reasonable. Also he was afraid that if he articulated it too clearly his own reasoning would tear like wet paper. “It just feels like something I should do?”

Clint put the beer on the end table. “Why me?”

Phil’s eyes peeked between his fingers and traveled over Clint’s long legs encased in soft jeans, his chest under the softest gray shirt, he felt it when they knocked into each other, his arms that looked strong without looking specifically exercised to emphasize each and every muscle. His eyes. He looked away. “I know you,” Phil said, “I like you, I think of you as a friend despite the fact that I’m technically your boss, that by the way is what makes this incredibly inappropriate instead of just really inappropriate, this body at least finds you mildly attractive, the scuttlebutt leans towards the fact that you know what you’re doing—”

“Whoa. Whoa.” Clint sputtered. “Scuttlebutt?”

Phil’s face went warm. “I… listen.” He shrugged. “Look, I’m your handler and you are often… reticent… about telling your superiors any problems you might be having. Gossip isn’t anywhere remotely reliable, but it can lead you in the right direction sometimes.”

Clint stared at him, jaw dropped until his eyes narrowed slightly. “You know, this actually explains some things.”

Like when Phil had shown up at his door not more than four hours after the messy breakup with Bobbi and proceeded to explain to Clint how exactly watching Supernanny was totally considered job training. He’d laughed that evening and Phil could see it around the eyes, the surprise that he could laugh. At the end, the late night he’d had to have to shunt his work over to leave early had been worth it. Phil smiled weekly at his now knowing gaze.

Clint’s head is tilted curiously. “You tried it yourself yet?”

Phil was fairly sure his face would never be its normal color again, he shook it. “I haven’t actually been alone and I,” he made a face and finished his thought quickly, “I haven’t dated in a long time, can’t see what I’m doing and have enough trouble with mirrors as it is.”

“Mirrors?” Clint asked and then his face went slack with understanding. “Oh.”

Finally, Phil thought, he wasn’t the only one who was embarrassed. Clint’s gaze didn’t leave his though it went assessing. 

“Stand up,” Clint said, getting to his feet.

“Stand up?” Phil did it anyway.

“Your body both confuses and scares you,” Clint stepped closer, “me looming over you as I attempt to make it respond in ways you don’t understand is just a recipe for disaster. At least this way you have freedom of movement and we’re at relatively the same height.”

“Oh.” Phil said.

Clint stepped again, they were as close as possible, without touching. Clint cupped his cheek and his thumb stroked back and forth against Phil’s skin, his eyes closed. He felt the puff of breath as Clint leaned in. “You sure?” He murmured into Phil’s skin. 

“Yes.”

The kiss started soft, it took a few seconds for Phil to realize it was actually happening, then he let his head tilt, just a bit, so that their lips slanted together neatly. Clint met that with the gentle brush of his body against Phil’s and then something opened up and Phil remembered what to do, the kiss went deep and wet and Phil’s body lit up in a familiar but completely foreign way. He gasped and surged and then Clint’s arms were around him, pulling him closer, lifting the backs of his feet off the floor.

They parted suddenly, both a little shocked. Clint’s hair was mussed and Phil realized that had been him, while Clint breathed rapidly, Phil took stock. His chest felt tight, sensitive, his stomach churned and his, his, he felt a small ache inside, it pulsed happily when Phil took a small step back.

“Well,” Clint eventually said, “it’ll probably work.”

Phil snorted. “I’ll say.”

Clint held up a finger and dashed off to the bedroom, Phil took the opportunity to remove his sneakers, Clint came back quickly with a bottle and a string of condoms. “I think this would be better if we didn’t use my bedroom.”

Phil frowned and thought about it, distance from a bedroom might be helpful, a bed, Clint’s personal bed brought a lot of baggage along with it. Baggage Phil couldn’t afford to unpack. Also, historically, he’d never had much luck with sex in beds. Or out of beds. Or anywhere. No, in a bed actually made Phil more uncomfortable. He nodded. Clint put his accoutrements down and stepped back up to Phil. “Any time you want to stop, you say it, promise me.”

Phil nodded.

“Out loud.” Clint pressed.

“I promise if I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” Phil said.

Clint relaxed, it was subtle, but his shoulders went down and his face creased a little more. “Okay then.” He reached out and touched Phil’s ribcage, he frowned and nearly made a joke about perfect aim but Clint shushed him, “if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” His hand flattened and through the cotton of the tank top the heat was amazing, each finger was distinct the the palm was so warm against him it was almost as if there was no barrier between it and his skin at all. Clint’s hand skimmed up, firm enough not to tickle, light enough that Phil didn’t feel trapped, they stopped at his chest, they barely cupped the outside softness, still more on Phil’s sides than chest.

Then his thumbs moved, just circles but it… oh it felt good. Phil must have made a sound because Clint chuckled low and deep and did it again. They kissed again, but Clint’s hands hadn’t moved, just a slow creeping inward until— “oh!” his whole body flushed and pleasure zinged across his skin.

“Nipples are awesome,” Clint said into his mouth before claiming it again. 

Phil found his body pushing in closer, Clint’s hands slipped around and the loss of sensation was a pang until he pushed his chest against Clint’s and found that he was now sensitive enough that it felt nearly the same. The warm, knowing hands slipped down to his ass and gently gripped in a way that slowly angled his hips and it took Phil a minute to realize it was Clint’s leg he was wrapped around, slowly grinding against.

The kiss ended and they were both heaving for air.

“Couch?” Clint’s kiss bruised lips asked. 

Phil blinked a few times and then nodded decisively. 

Clint walked them back, only completely disengaging when the backs of his knees hit the cushions, Phil made a noise but Clint’s hands tugged gently on his. “On top, come on.”

The climb, and it was a climb, felt foreign and strange, but a tiny thrill of arousal spiked as their bodies meshed and curved into one another. Gravity put Phil into the cradle of Clint’s pelvis and they locked together without effort. Clint reeled him back in, pressing their chests together, kissing deep and dirty and for a while, Phil got lost in it.

When Clint began exploring his neck, finding each spot that seemed electrically wired to every other part of his body, his hands finally found their way back to Phil’s chest and it was… oh it was… his back arched completely.

“This one of those bra/shirt contraptions that Tasha has?” Clint asked.

Phil nodded.

“We’ll keep it on for this part then.” Clint’s head dipped and then there was something warm and agile sucking on his chest through the shirt and Phil shuddered hard, the soft, muted, friction it caused pushed his hips down and down and onto the firm/soft, hot, hard ridge that bumped him in just the right place between his legs. Clint hummed a pleased sound that vibrated right through Phil’s body and it was like riding a wave of pure pleasure but in a new flavor and it was pooling slowly in his toes and fingers.

Then Clint’s hand, the one not on Phil’s hip, helping him move back and forth cupped the other breast, thumb tweaking his peaked nipple and…

Heat sparked up and in and his entire body locked, except his hips, they snapped, and snapped and Clint sucked, hard and he gasped and gasped as the sweet pleasure rolled internally, muscles he’d never felt clenching and releasing and Clint nursed him through it, wringing out final clenches and then shivers until finally he drew away.

They panted at each other until Clint cupped his cheek again. “That was amazing.”

Phil opened his mouth but he couldn’t articulate anything, instead he tucked his head into the curve of Clint’s shoulder and hugged him. The move shifted their hips again and an echo of sensation shivered through him. Clint hugged back.

“Okay?”

Phil nodded into his shoulder. “That was… unexpected.”

“I thought it might happen actually,” Clint said, running a hand through Phil’s now slightly longer hair, “anyway, if this was going to be your first and only experience as a woman, I was gonna make it pretty damn exceptional and we are not even close to done,” he paused, “unless you want to be, that’s fine too.”

“No, I’m good.” Phil took a long breath, savoring Clint’s scent in his nose, the sweat had just started breaking out along his hair line. “It was just so fast and I didn’t expect, well I don’t know what I expected.”

“Some women are like that,” Clint said into his ear, “a fast one off the top and then a nice long one later, I’ve found sometimes it makes penetration easier.”

The word penetration made Phil’s heart skip and his body twitched in want. “That’s next?”

Clint kissed his ear and then down his neck. “Maybe, there’s other stuff. I have a plan.”

That made Phil look up. “A plan?” Clint smiled brightly. “The last thing I let you plan ended in destruction and blood loss.”

“Isn’t that how all the best sex ends?”

They laughed and it was suddenly easy again, their kisses started playfully but Phil’s skin still buzzed and Clint’s hands seemed made to stir that up and he seemed to feel he finally had permission to touch skin. They slid under his shirt, hot, calloused, agile and they stroked and explored and eventually rucked his shirt up to just under the swell of his breasts. Chest. Pectoral muscles.

He muffled a laugh into Clint’s mouth.

“What’s so funny,” Clint murmured back, taking a detour around Phil’s chin and neck to give him room to talk.

“Nothing,” Phil assured him, “I just feel like the nomenclature inside my own head is eventually going to be one long setup for a terrible pun.” 

Clint hummed understanding and they went back to kissing, Clint let Phil’s hands settle under his shirt for a few minutes before leaning away long enough to take it off. They pressed together and Phil’s stomach suddenly seemed a hundred times more sensitive, the scratchy hairs on Clint’s abdomen kept sparking shivers and eventually the shirt scrunched up on his stomach was more annoying than the worries about being shirtless.

Eventually he pulled away and moved to lift the shirt over his head, only he forgot about the built in bra and it caught on his breasts, which bounced when freed, his chin, which it snapped against like a rubber band, and his hair, which was already messed up anyway, but his dignity had long since been chased away.

Clint’s face was filled with mirth and the only obvious answer to that was to fling the top at him. He let it hit and then shook it off with a goofy grin. “That was awesome,” his eyes dipped, “so are those.”

Phil fought the urge to cover up and instead took Clint’s hands and put them right onto the center of his focus. 

“I love the skin here,” Clint leaned in and nuzzled the inside of one breast, “it’s soft, thin, delicate but still so strong.” He kissed the skin and then smiled. “And sensitive.”

Phil shivered, this time he could feel each line of Clint’s lips, the slight stubble that signaled hours from morning but not enough to say it was nearly bedtime. His tongue, as he sucked a nipple into his mouth was agile, wet, but also textured in a way Phil had never appreciated about tongues. 

He could feel the tension building this time, recognized the signs a bit more, his hips, when they shifted, were searching for a specific pressure and they found it, the feeling was indescribable.

“Tell me about it,” Clint whispered into Phil’s skin.

He huffed a laugh. “I was just thinking that I couldn’t.”

Clint kissed him, their bare chests pressed together, skin contact sent a thrill through him, making his newly arch-able back, arch. “I’m serious,” Clint said as he moved to the place where Phil’s neck met his shoulder and sucked at the skin there, “tell me.”

“It’s an ache,” Phil was shocked at how the gentle nibbling jolted all of his erogenous zones, “a pleasant one, like after a good workout only more,” Clint worked his way across Phil’s collar bone, gnawing gently on the sensitive skin, “I think, I mean, when I,” Phil felt his entire front flush and not just from Clint’s ministrations, “when I,” he rolled his hips in demonstration, “you press on something and it’s like relief only better, like a pressure point massage as the knot releases,” he gasped as Clint sucked in the nipple nearest his mouth again. “Oh, that’s so unexpectedly good.”

Clint let the nipple pop out and licked his lips. “Imagine, we haven’t even reached the,” his eyebrow quirked, “pressure point, directly yet.”

The idea of it made Phil squirm, a good squirm. “Pants, we should be pantless.” Phil stood on wobbily legs, and shoved the elastic of his sweats past his hips and admired the way they just fell after, pooled at his feet. Clint meanwhile just squirmed on the sofa until his jeans were flicked several feet away with his last kick. It should be hilarious, both of them in nothing but underwear and socks but Clint’s lips looked bruised and his eyes were dark with want, his cock stretched his gray boxer briefs just enough to give Phil a pleasant idea of what lived under the fabric, the damp patch at the tip was… intriguing. 

Phil was back in his lap without remembering moving, but the heat, oh the heat between the two thin layers of fabric was scorching and that nudge showered sparks and he felt a wet ache intensify. 

“Can I,” Clint panted into the skin between Phil’s breasts, “can I touch you, through the fabric?”

Phil blinked, they were already touching, through the fabric, would Clint’s fingers be any different? Probably but Phil was ready for different, he nodded. “Yes, please.”

He went slow, letting them kiss, all the kissing was now the fantastically deep kind, with just the right amount of tongue that kept distracting Phil until he shuddered and Clint smiled into his mouth. The backs of his fingers ran up and down the inside of his thighs. Then circles, widening each time, the callouses on Clint’s thumb catching rhythmically on Phil’s skin.

“I love the skin here too,” Clint told him between kisses, “also soft, but hiding the steel of muscles.”

The first press of thumb against cotton was shocking, a surprise, Phil had lost track of the hands for a second, but also the sensation was intense. A single point of pleasure, spreading out to all other points, it made all of Clint’s other touches magnify and intensify and then they kissed again and it doubled back, building on the foundation of delicious sensations.

Phil missed a beat and then Clint’s entire hand was cupping him, the thumb was still there but there was another finger just under it, stroking and that, oh that was like scratching an itch from the other side. A noise escaped his mouth and Clint lapped it up into his and then smiled. “Yeah, quick biology lesson, the clitoris has roots, often the shaft is just as happy to be pet as the rest.” Off of Phil’s look Clint shrugged self consciously, “I thought Natasha was punking me, but I looked it up and uh—” he stroked his finger again with just a bit more firmness, “gathered empirical evidence.”

“More.” Phil gasped, hips pushing down hard, so hard that Clint wasn’t prepared and a stray finger slid and caught, even over the fabric, for a second before moving off. He frowned and then reached down and deliberately moved the cloth to the side. “More.”

Clint smile could only be described as saucy, but he nodded and went to it and the feeling of a something agile and rough sliding over slick nerve endings made something clench tightly and it was a delicious clench. Something was achy and wanting, but without the cotton in the way, Phil could direct the stray fingers in that direction until finally Clint stopped kissing him and gave him a serious look. “You ready for that?”

Phil froze.

“Just a finger,” Clint said, “and I have lube so it’ll go in nice and easy.”

Phil looked in the direction Clint nodded, oh, that had been the bottle. “Okay, yes, I want to try that.”

Clint smiled and grabbed the bottle and squeezed a small amount onto the tips of two of his fingers, “Some women don’t need extra, some do,” he wedged the bottle between two nearby couch cushions, “I say better safe than sorry.” He gathered Phil close and ducked his head so that it was resting on Phil’s collar bone and his eye line was clear. The fingers of lube were carefully wiped along the same path Clint had taken earlier and the rubbing from before returned, only this time Clint watched avidly as his fingers slid easily between Phil’s legs. Phil was transfixed as well watching Clint’s hand disappear between them, each graceful slide coinciding with a happy burst of sensation. 

Then Clint took a shallow dip further back along with another thorough swipe and then more dipping until finally Clint’s finger could only be registered as an intrusion, except that it only enhanced the pleasant ache that was spreading. Eventually Clint’s other hand squeezed his waist. “Maybe you should try rocking now?” 

So he did. It was strange at first, his hips needed to find the angle and Clint, instead of kissing and licking and biting stayed where he was, staring down. 

“Yeah, that’s right, here let me,” he crooked something and moved his thumb a bit and then Phil’s body lit up. “That’s it,” Clint said, a combination of proud and fond coloring his words, ”yeah, you can do it.”

Phil clamped onto Clint’s shoulders, using them for leverage but eventually he needed to express some of what he was feeling, so his right hand cupped the back of Clint’s head, his fingers threaded through the short hair, holding him close, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head.

“Bear down on me a little,” Clint’s voice was rough, “tighten on the down stroke, yeah that’s it, you’re close again aren’t you? I can feel it.”

Phil clamped down on a whimper, he was right, that tightness in his stomach and the tingle in his fingers was back and he could feel his body acting without his conscious thought again and each press in left him open mouthed and gasping. “Clint,” he said, “oh Clint, Clint, Clint, I— Oh.” It still surprised him, the sharp clench of pleasure that muted his extremities at first until all of his skin got in on the orgasm and he went hyper-sensitized.

When Phil stopped moving, distracted by pleasure, Clint started, his finger pushing in through the contractions and that sensation was what he was looking for, it wasn’t that the finger pressed on the right spot but that all the right spots pressed against the finger, it wrung out a few more hard shudders before it tapered off.

Clint pulled his fingers away gently and wiped them on his discarded shirt. Then he gathered Phil to him again and waited. “Okay there?”

His eyes prickled with emotion, the intensity was scaring him a little. “Do you have Gatorade?” He winced as his voice warbled. “I think my electrolytes could use a boost.”

Clint’s laugh rumbled but his hands remained where they were, gently stroking up and down Phil’s bare back. “Yeah, in the fridge, let me get it?” He kissed the closest patch of skin he could reach, Phil’s ear again and then gently moved them apart. Phil didn’t even try to stand and Clint was back before he could even feel cold. Phil curled back up on top of Clint and found a soft fleece blanket from the back of the couch draped over his shoulders. The Gatorade was cold going down his throat and the blanket felt soft and warm against his cooling skin.

After downing half of it he offered the bottle to Clint, who took a long sip and then set it aside.

“Still okay?” Clint asked.

Phil reached out and stroked the side of Clint’s face, then his shoulders and arms and chest and yeah, he nodded, he was okay.

“Out loud?” Clint pressed. “Please?”

Phil smiled. “I’m good. What’s next?”

Clint kissed him, just reeled him in and kissed him, this session was slow and exploratory, a seduction with lips and tongue and the occasional nip, Phil’s body was only too ready to respond, already revved and endorphin drowned, his responses came quickly. This time he could recognize more of it, how the best touches zapped right between his legs where the ache was more liquid than dry and how with time his joints seemed to melt into seamless streams of movement.

The climb though, at the same time, seemed shallow, longer but more structured, but each step was also more enjoyable, the pleasure didn’t have to build, it was already there and each dip of lips and tongue scraped against it in the most delicious of ways. Each round, it seemed, started from a higher pleasure point than the one before.

They kissed for a long time, until Clint’s choked off noises made it through Phil’s desire fogged brain and then suddenly, it wasn’t just about him, well, it hadn’t really been before, but now Phil wanted to see Clint come apart under his hands. Under his body. That sent a thrill of desire licking through him and Clint rocked him through it before gently pulling away. 

“Ready?” and now Clint’s voice was wrecked in the best of ways, it was deep and hoarse and his lips were actually swollen enough to make the fricatives harder to say.

Phil bit his lip and deliberately separated their hips, Clint’s cock had peaked out the top by this point, the tip red and desperate looking, the image didn’t frighten him, it only made something deep inside him throb in want. “Yes.”

Clint reached for a condom but Phil’s hand intercepted him. “Let me, this part I understand.”

Clint just shook his head. “Not a good idea. As it is I need a breather or this will be less fun than I planned.” He paused, started to say something else, but reconsidered it and just continued to reach for the condom. Before he put it on he gently pried Phil off him. “We need to change positions for this to work well, at least in the beginning, I want you to have control of the descent.”

And now Phil would never be able to fly commercial again. Thank you Clint. Phil moved off Clint’s lap, taking the time to gently move his legs around, his hips were especially stiff, he was a women for the moment, but he was still 45 years old. When he turned back to Clint, he found a fond smile on his face and a quirked eyebrow.

Phil raised one of his own and Clint laughed, then shimmied out of his boxers and swung his legs up onto the couch, the condom slid on easily and then Clint frowned, dug between his legs into the sofa cushions and found the tube of lube like it was a prize at the bottom of a cereal box. 

Phil removed the blanket from around his shoulders and folded it neatly before settling it out of the way, he was just about to hook his fingers into the elastic of his underwear when he paused and asked Clint, “Need a longer break?”

“No,” Clint said, “I remembered that I never want to hurt you and cooled down quick enough.” 

Phil glanced down at the condom covered erection shaped sundial and gave a questioning look.

Clint laughed. “I’m good, you good?”

Phil, having finally learned, did more than nod. “Yeah, I am,” and pushed his underpants down over his hips. Then he walked bravely up to Clint and lifted a leg to climb on. Before he even settled, Clint helped, shifting and adjusting his body so that Phil rested happily just above his erection.

“I’ll lube myself up and help aim, you just do whatever you have to, okay?”

“Got it.”

The first press of that blunt, hot head into his body hurt, but at his gasp Clint froze and waited, but the hurt quickly settled into a burn and Phil inched down.

“Remember the finger? Clench and release before trying to move again.” Clint said, voice tight.

Phil clenched and released and then clenched and released and without trying his hips came down, a few more stops and soon he felt Clint’s pubic bone pressing delightfully into his and Phil gave an experimental wiggle that was a complete, mind melting success.

They grinned at each other in success and then Clint waggled his eyebrows and looked pointedly down at the connection between them. Phil took the hint and experimented with movement. Side to side first, shifting his hips just to see how it felt. It was nice, not quite was he was looking for, but a good preview of how it all worked together.

Next he got his knees under him, so his thighs could push up and then release and oh that, yes that was probably going to be nice for a while. Below him, Clint made a pleased sound and his eyes sparkled. So he did it again and again and again until his focus narrowed down to the look in Clint’s eye, the glow of Clint’s skin as it flowed smoothly over his muscles as they bunched and released with each of Phil’s movements.

The feel of Clint inside of Phil was like a shining beacon of pleasure that lit up the sky, pressing in and in and every place they touched exploded in sensation. Clint’s hands moved restlessly between Phil’s breasts and hips, stroking, touching, squeezing, but gently still.

Eventually, too soon, Phil’s legs were starting to cramp enough that the slight burn was noticeable despite the working of their hips making Phil’s body spark.

“C’mere,” Clint slurred, sitting up unaided and oh that made his ab muscles look fantastic, ”kisses, we need kisses,” and he drew Phil’s face close and touched their lips. These kisses seemed more intimate than before, both gentle and ravaging and once again Phil felt himself being moved, Clint tucked Phil’s legs completely around his waist. “Hook your ankles,” Clint said into his mouth, “yeah, like that,” he said when Phil complied. “Now feel this,” Clint said tucking him close, nosing at the skin under Phil’s ear as his hand pulled Phil’s hips in and snug and this time there was an external rub that happened at the same time and that tightened his whole body at once. Clint smiled into his neck, “Yeah baby, that’s what I meant.” 

“Baby?” Phil asked, breathless but amused. He didn’t stop moving to wait for an answer though, it felt amazing, this rub thrust thing Clint had shown him.

“Considering the— mmmm nice— circumstance, I thought that Sir might— oh yeah, you got it now— Sir might be both a little inappropriate and not quite the scene you were going for.”

Phil laughed and realized the Clint hadn’t used his name yet because he hadn’t been given permission and apparently today was the day Clint would wait for permission for everything. Phil flushed in pleasure at the idea and his hips snapped forward a bit faster than he intended at the idea that Clint would be that careful. “Call me Phil,” he said, “Two orgasms gets you a first name.”

Clint snickered, “Okay Phil,” he mouthed the name into Phil’s shoulder, collar bone, neck, breasts and then Phil’s lips. “Phil, Phil, Phil,” the kiss went sloppy and deep, its rhythm unconsciously mimicking their bodies.

An infinite time of pleasure soaked movement later Clint wrenched his lips away from Phil and buried his face into Phil’s shoulder. “God you feel good.”

Their rocking had slowed, but neither seemed able to stop. “You too.” Phil murmured into Clint’s temple.

Clint made an inarticulate sound and his hips snapped up, hard. “Sorry, sorry.”

Phil’s breath caught. “Do that again?”

“I’m not sure I can,” he did it, “control myself if I do.” And again he pushed into Phil sharply, the same angle, but with more energy, faster, firmer. “Oh god Phil, you are amazing.”

“Do it right and you won’t need to hold back,” Phil rocked into the next few firm thrusts. “Oh, like that, that’s really,” his jaw clicked shut when Clint’s movements and Phil’s movements synced just right.

“Okay, okay,” Clint jabbered, “I just need to, we have to lay down then,” Clint tilted them back until they were horizontal again and then his legs bent at the knees, it would have given Phil a back rest if he sat up straight but Clint’s arms held him close. “Let me try something, you do what works with it.”

Phil was about to agree when Clint moved and moved and moved and all Phil could do was spread his legs a little more and let Clint pound and pound and each push in shoved him quickly up Clint’s body just enough to grind their pelvises together in just the right way to spark in pleasure, it did it again as Phil slid back down just on time for Clint to press in again.

It was all Phil could do to hold on, panting opening mouthed into the nearest patch of Clint’s skin and when Clint’s hands and arms moved from holding loosely around Phil’s waist to clutching desperately at his hips to help pull Phil back down on time for each thrust making them grind hard for brief moments at a time and that was when Phil felt the now familiar liquid limberness of his joints start.

Phil’s hands braced on Clint’s shoulders, used them as leverage to push down with as much force as Clint was using his feet to push up and the pre-orgasmic coordination smoothed out their movements to become a single sexual machine. The build went so high it became hard to breath and Phil was lightheaded with it all until finally, something crested and intense pleasure flooded though his entire being and time stopped.

It restarted again when his entire body clenched and released and under him Clint whimpered.

“Oh thank god,” Clint said, straining, “thank god, oh god, Phil,” one of his hands reached up and cupped the back of Phil’s head, then stroked clumsily, the hand was still clenched on Phil’s hip, carefully holding him in place. “Phil, Phil, Phil,” he said, “this is really, really, awesome.”

Phil would have laughed if his body hadn’t short circuited mid shudder and the pressure started building again, very close to the top. It shocked him so much his hands slipped off Clint’s shoulders and onto the couch below.

“What?” Clint asked, alarmed, slowing down for a moment before he gasped, “are you having? Another?”

Phil nodded fiercely, face going back to being buried into Clint’s neck. “I think, I think,” no he was sure, “yes, Clint, yes.”

The noise Clint made was a cross between a hitched breathe and whine. “Okay, okay, just, here,” he smoothed out his stroke a little, “this okay or do I need to reach for your—”

Phil sucked in a shocked breath, whatever Clint had changed worked because Phil was gone, swallowed whole by an orgasm that went on and on, each shudder of muscle was a shock of pleasure and when the haze receded just enough for him to hear and feel Clint again Phil understood that each sharp jolt of sensation was from Clint, thrusting erratically into him. He was gone, so close his muscles were clenched under Phil’s body.

“I hope you’re done,” Clint panted, “because I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I need to,” his rhythm faltered and his final thrusts where slower and accompanied by the high pitched whine of panting exhales. 

“I’m done,” Phil said, “I’m done, it’s okay, I’m done.” Though that didn’t mean Clint’s final moves didn’t start aftershocks that were nearly as good.

They both slumped at the same time, forcefully relaxed into lassitude by orgasms. Really amazing orgasms on Phil’s part. Clint moved, but only enough to wrap his arms loosely around Phil’s waist again. “Okay?” He asked eventually, when Phil remained still and quiet.

No. Absolutely not. Who had he been kidding, this was the dumbest idea he’d ever had. For science? Who had he been kidding. Phil had been selfish and self centered. This was too much.

His silence had lasted too long, Clint had gone stiff under him. “Phil? Are you okay?”

“I… no.” Phil whispered.

“Okay,” Clint stroked his back, “do you need me to leave?”

“No!” Phil took a deep breath. “No. I. No.”

“We need to,” Clint’s right hand made a circuitous route from the small of Phil’s back to where their groins where still connected, “I need to pull out and take care of the condom, but we don’t have to move after that.”

Phil nodded without looking up to meet Clint’s eyes. He moved up when Clint gestured, the final quiet pop when Clint’s cock finally left him felt loud in his ears. There was something happening out of his line of sight and then a quiet slap as the condom landed in the trash bin across the room. Phil went to move back but Clint stopped him.

“Wait, those things have spermicide, but just in case, let me clean up.” Clint’s arms reached back to the side table and a box of tissues, more movements and then finally, Clint told him with silent gestures that he could settle back down into the cradle of Clint’s lap. The blanket from earlier was settled on top of them and Clint just stroked Phil’s back for a long while.

“Is it,” Phil eventually spoke, head still tucked under Clint’s chin, “is it always like that?”

“You don’t know?” Clint blurted. “No, sorry, it’s just, you’ve said you’ve had sex.”

“I said I dated,” Phil corrected, “but yes, I’ve had sex,” he breathed shakily, “but never like that.”

“Maybe it’s the multiple orgasms? I mean, that has to be different.”

“No,” Phil said, “that was pretty amazing, yes, but,” he shook his head, “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it.”

Clint went silent, still stroking Phil’s skin absently. “Phil?”

“Hmm?” Phil yawned, the energetic sex plus the satiation of orgasm were excellent soporifics.

“Are you gay?”

Phil froze and then remembered he was cuddled on top of a man who had just had sex with his male boss while temporarily inside a female body. He wasn’t going to judge. “I think so.”

“Okay,” Clint said quietly, “cool.”

Phil snorted. “Thanks Clint, your acceptance has now broken down all of my psychological barriers and I now feel free to live my life as a free wheeling and fancy free gay spy extraordinary.”

Clint’s entire body rippled with laughter. “Glad I could help.”

The joke helped ease the tension and soon Phil was yawning again, he fell asleep between one gentle stroke of his back and the next. He woke up to a strange grumbling noise that echoed into his ear.

“Sorry,” Clint mumbled, “hungry.”

Phil’s stomach grumbled in concert. “Me too.”

“The local Chinese place is on grubhub,” Clint worked his phone over to Phil’s temple and poked at it gently. “Add what you want and I’ll hit order.”

Phil ignored him, “Dumplings, fried rice, chicken and cashews,” he mumbled into Clint’s chest and batted the phone away when it poked at him for a second time, “and eggrolls.”

Clint relented with a huff, “Hungry?” 

“Yes.” Phil waited for the muted sounds of finger tapping to finish. “How long?”

“Hold on, it’s still spinning, ah there, 35 minutes.” Clint tightened his arms around Phil briefly before letting go. “Come on, let’s get dressed, we can come back to this after.”

Feeling strangely shy, Phil grabbed the blanket covering them and pulled it closed as he sat up. Clint smiled at him which Phil rewarded with Clint’s own dirty shirt to the face. “I’ll be in the bathroom,” he collected the majority of his clothing and a spare washcloth on the way. 

He washed between his legs, finding it a bit tender and still somewhat sensitive. No blood though or if there was, it was too little to see in the colored cloth. In the mirror, he looked unkempt but satiated, with bits of whisker burn on his neck and the occasional sucked on bruise decorating his flushed skin.

They switched places, Clint sliding past him shirtless but with a pile of clothes in his hand.

Clint reappeared quickly and only hesitated briefly before gathering Phil to him. Clint took up one corner of the couch and Phil settled carefully into his arms, back to chest, a leg on each side of Phil’s hips. Clint brushed a kiss along Phil’s hairline and flicked on the television. “MASH or Undercover Boss?”

“Like you need to ask,” Phil said slowly relaxing into Clint’s embrace.

“MASH it is,” Clint said and oofed softly when Phil elbowed him, but he didn’t complain about the choice.

The doorbell rang just as the ending credits crawled across the screen, Clint kissed Phil’s temple again and then climbed out from behind him when Phil leaned forward a bit. They ate through a second episode, Phil was ravenous and plowed through a good half of his order barely breathing in between bites. Clint was nearly as bad and for twenty minutes or so all that could be heard was chewing and Hawkeye Pierce’s existential alcoholic angst.

They ate more slowly through a third episode, talking a bit, mostly about nothing.

“You’re staying here tonight, right?” Clint asked during a commercial break.

Phil’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “Yes.”

Clint smiled, his head bobbing in acceptance. “I can stay on the couch.”

Phil’s hand paused, reaching for the last dumpling, before carefully moving forward. “No, that’s okay. We can share.”

Eventually Phil grabbed Clint’s laptop to log in to his SHIELD account and finish off his after action report, not much left to add, just a few details, this one was mostly medical. He then logged his temporary lodgings and by the time he sent that off he was yawning again, but also kind of itchy from the long dried sweat.

Off to the side, Clint watched him finish up and then stood, coming to rest just behind Phil’s chair at kitchen table. “Wanna shower together?” It was nonchalant, for Clint, but his hands rubbed on Phil’s shoulders with enough pressure to feel nice, enough to know that just a bit more pressure and his sore muscles would really love it.

Phil reached up and clasped one of Clint’s hands. “Could be fun.” Phil closed the lid of the laptop and stood, turning to face Clint and stepping around the chair, still holding hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint led him back to the bathroom and turned the water on without looking, adjusting the knobs while still keeping eye contact with Phil. He only released Phil’s hand when it was time to take off his shirt, Phil followed suit, this time remembering the attached bra, carefully raising the elastic over the bottom roundness of his breasts.

Their pants and underwear went the same way and then they nearly killed each other trying to get their socks off without either breaking eye contact or elbowing the wall or the other person in the room. Finally Clint slid open the shower curtain and stepped in, offering a hand to Phil who was still having center of gravity problems and lifting his leg high enough to get over the lip of the tub and then place it down on the slick surface on the other side would challenge those problems greatly.

Someone had installed a rounded shower rod, so that it bulged out at the top pulling the curtain away from the tub enough to give the person, or persons, inside more elbow room without taking up actual floor space in the small room. Clint and Phil fit inside it with surprising ease.

They kissed under a fountain of water and even before Clint picked up a bar of soap, their skin was slick and smooth. It was cleansing but also erotic and by the time they ducked under the shower head to wash off all of the soap Phil’s skin was tingling from more than just cleanliness.

Clint’s hands slid along his curves mostly idly until Phil directed one between his legs. Clint’s smile against his skin was easy to read. 

“Mmm, okay.” He said turning Phil around until Clint was plastered against his back. Phil moved his hips, aiming to get the hardness pressed to his side closer to the center, but Clint shook his head. “You’re not on any type of birth control, none of my sperm is going any where near your funzone without the contraceptive equivalent of the Great Wall of China.”

“Funzone?” Phil couldn’t help but ask.

Clint’s fingers dipped down, rubbing in small circles. “This isn’t fun?”

Phil’s breath caught. “Fair enough.”

After, Phil and his wobbly legs needed help getting out of the shower, more than he’d needed getting in. Once out from behind the curtain Clint wrapped him in a towel, catching as many stray water drops as he could before drying himself off. They climbed into bed naked and Phil wasn’t really sure he was ready to try for yet another round, but Clint’s cock was still perky and mostly hard from the shower and Phil felt brave and thankful. So he grabbed the hand towel from the rack and curled up at Clint’s side.

Clint’s eyes were curious. “You need a binky?”

Phil narrowed his eyes and flapped the towel at Clint’s face before draping it over Clint’s abdomen. His first touch surprised Clint or at least, caused a sharp indrawn breath. It didn’t feel all that dissimilar than Phil’s own experiences with himself at first but quickly the small differences showed themselves in a vein in a different place, the ridge starting sooner, the balls a bit more prominent. Also the sensitivities started and stopped in different places. Not to mention the absolute fascination Phil was feeling, he was actually more engaged in the act than usual.

Clint’s eyes were closed in pleasure and Phil felt strangely separated from him and that made his stomach tense in unhappy ways. So he pushed himself up onto his left elbow and leaned close enough to suck on a patch of skin just below Clint’s jaw.

“Mmm, nice.” Clint said, shifting to look at Phil. “You okay?”

Phil nodded and kissed him. They stayed like that, kissing for a few minutes until Clint pulled away abruptly. “Sorry, just,” he reached into his nightstand and brought out a new looking bottle of lube, “we left the other one in the living room and I’m not getting up.” He handed the bottle to Phil. “I’m pretty close, but sometimes I need a little more speed than a bare hand should try, friction burns on my dick are not hot.”

He was close? Clint’s face was flushed and his eyes were nearly all pupil and his cock was… oh, red and wet. Phil carefully squeezed a quarter sized amount onto his palm and looked at Clint for confirmation. When he nodded, Phil handed the bottle back to be put away.

When Phil wrapped his hand back around Clint’s cock he noticed the entire up and down motion was easier for him as well, but he was quickly distracted by Clint’s hitched breathing. “Good?” he asked.

“So good,” Clint breathed, staring at him before kissing Phil long and deep. “So, so good.”

Clint’s left hand joined his, they bumped into each other until Clint’s tucked under Phil’s cupping his balls, rolling them gently.

“I could,” Phil offered.

“No,” Clint shook his head, “stay up here and, yes,” the s hissed out, “keep doing that.” Clint’s free arm wrapped around Phil, drawing him closer, he rested their foreheads together. “Phil is this the first time you’ve tried this?” His voice was an octave too low and raspy.

“Yes,” Phil whispered.

Clint’s entire body bowed and Phil’s hand kept moving in long firm strokes, mesmerized by the feel of a cock coming under his fingers, usually when there was a cock coming in his hand, his own, he was too caught up in the mediocre to pleasant orgasm that was running through his body, but now, he could focus totally on Clint. Clint who was pulsing wetly into the well placed towel and shivering in pleasure with each subsequent slow pull Phil gave him.

“Oh yeah,” Clint slurred, “that’s good, you’re good.”

Eventually Phil took the towel, folded it and then gently wiped Clint down with the clean side. After the towel was dropped off the side of the bed, Clint rolled over and gathered Phil close to him. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Phil said, relaxing into the heat of Clint’s body, “this is fine.” He fell asleep to the feel of Clint’s hands making long and slow circuits up and down his back.

Morning dawned slow and sleepy, overnight had frozen the windows over and the bed was an oasis of comfortable warmth. The apartment heat had caught up enough for a fully clothed person, but since they were still naked, the small slices of skin peeking out from under the blanket shivered.

“Blanket cocoon,” Clint murmured, “best part of the morning.”

“Coffee,” Phil countered, “tell me there’s coffee.”

Clint mumbled something incoherent and snuggled further into the curve of Phil’s back, he nuzzled Phil’s shoulder and then kissed it softly. “Sex hangover.”

Phil hummed noncommittally but his body felt like it’d gone ten rounds on the mat. He stretched only to make a pained noise and curl back up into his original position.

Clint was instantly alert, “What’s wrong?”

“My stomach muscles are sore,” Phil said, slowly easing his legs straight again. 

Clint’s hand reached around to cup his abdomen, massaging gently. “I remember one night, I was 15 and I’d just seen my first completely bare breast. I came like six times before passing out into a sex coma, could barely move the next day.”

That was when Phil realized that yesterday there had been five orgasms in under 4 hours. No wonder he was sore. Clint’s hand though, felt wonderful. “What time is it?”

“Pretty early, we crawled in here by like nine last night,” Clint kissed his shoulder again and then made a slow path down Phil’s ribcage,lifting the arm that was in the way so he could duck under it. He gently rolled Phil onto his back as his lips worked their way over his stomach. “I’ve got some of the hair that bit you,” he kissed provocatively lower, “if you want.”

Phil felt indecisive for a long moment, but Clint’s eyes looked hopeful and his hands kept smoothing slow circles into his skin. “Okay,” he said feeling brave, “after all, your tongue is probably the strongest muscle in your body.”

Clint flashed him a knowing grin and waggled his eyebrows before resuming his descent. Phil let his legs fall open and in the warm cocoon of blankets, Clint shouldered one of Phil’s legs and leaned in and… kissed him. It was… fantastic and any reservations flew out of Phil’s head the first time he felt Clint’s tongue breach him carefully while letting his nose rub up and down.

Soon, Phil was letting his hips rock into the sensations and hesitantly let his own fingers cup his breasts, his thumbs flicking at the erect nipples they found. That quickly moved the schedule up and soon he was gasping and calling Clint’s name until his breath was taken away while his entire body flushed and shuddered. While still slack with orgasm, Clint’s head popped out from under the blanket with a sparkle in his eyes. 

“Good?”

“Mmhmm.” Phil kissed him, finding the extra flavor on Clint’s tongue fascinating.

They broke away from each other panting and Clint reached off the side of the bed and came back with a condom. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Phil nodded, “Are you going for a 24 hour record?”

Clint laughed, reaching for the lube, “I just feel inspired.” He started to roll onto his back, so that Phil could climb on, but Phil stopped him.

“No,” Phil laid back down, “like this?”

“You sure?” Clint asked, “There was a reason we skipped the bedroom yesterday,” he tilted his head, “also, sometimes missionary doesn’t let everything line up as well for women and I don’t want you to feel,” he cut himself off and leaned in to kiss Phil, “sex should always be awesome for you.”

“Clint,” Phil said, “this has been the best sex I’ve ever had,” he stroked Clint’s cheek, “and I’m pretty sure you couldn’t let it be terrible even if you tried.”

They kissed tenderly and an achy bloom of warmth curled inside of Phil as he drew them back down to the bed, with Clint on top. Clint made sure the blanket came with them, once again cocooning them into a world of soft light and warmth. Clint pushed in with one extra slow stroke until he could go forward no more and then he settled down, elbows on either side of Phil’s body, bracing himself.

“Legs around me,” Clint instructed, voice tight, “like last time.”

Phil hooked his ankles and was then captured into the depth of Clint’s gaze. They moved slowly, a languid push/pull of pleasure, foreheads touching, staring into each other’s eyes. Something caught inside of Phil’s chest again, a chasm of emotion he had been staunchly ignoring, repressing, but his new body made everything different and the compartmentalization skills of a lifetime seemed to crumble under a body full of hormones he didn’t have the experience with to control.

Their breathing synced and their hitched groans filled the air until a huge wave of pleasure swamped Phil’s senses and his eyes closed automatically so he could savor the feeling. Clint’s face slid into his shoulder and his thrusts got sharper, in Phil’s ear he whispered Phil’s name over and over. 

Phil came soon after, long slow rolls of sensation that jounced happily upward with each of Clint’s final thrusts. Eventually, they rolled to a stop and they panted for long moments before Clint kissed his way back to Phil’s mouth.

“Sorry,” Clint said, still sounding out of breath, “I wanted to go for two again, got distracted.”

Phil huffed, his fingers finding their way to Clint’s hair, playing idly with the soft ends. “I’m not filling out an after action efficiency report on this Clint.”

“The asset showed great creativity in understanding his surroundings,” Clint said while nuzzling the edge of Phil’s jaw.

“And great dexterity with new and untested equipment,” Phil said, “often going above and beyond to make sure the job got done.”

Clint snickered. “Seven times.”

“Knew you were keeping score,” Phil said, laughing quietly.

“Maybe.” Clint reached down, fingers brushing against where they were connected and Phil made a questioning noise until he realized Clint was pulling out, making sure the condom did what it was supposed to. It still left a small shock of pleasure as Clint moved. Next to him Clint cleaned up, reaching for the towel from the night before then he turned back, recreated their blanket cocoon and reached out to resume touching Phil’s skin. “Nap or food?”

“Bathroom.” Phil said and then snuck an arm out and snagged Clint’s purple hoodie and slipped it on. He was the same height and still well muscled but he’d lost enough mass to have the single garment cover everything. Most of his clothes were still on the bathroom floor. He gargled with some mouthwash rather than look for a toothbrush and grabbed yesterday’s washcloth for a quick clean before getting dressed again. He paused briefly before slipping Clint’s hoodie back on.

Together they rewarmed the rest of the take out and made coffee, sitting quietly at the kitchen table until Phil’s cell rang. He stood and fished it out of the pocket of the coat he wore on the way over to Clint’s apartment the day before.

It was a short conversation.

He hit end and then sat down on the couch, the phone clutched in his hand. Clint sat next to him and peeled the phone out of his hand, but didn’t ask, just waited.

“The entirety of the SHIELD R and D and the medical departments went at it for 36 hours. Their conclusion is that it’s going to be a while. Director Fury has authorized an entire identity pack, to go with the replacement ID I got yesterday, along with a relocation package. I’ll need a new place to live and clothes at the very least.”

Clint slung an arm around his shoulders. “You can stay here.”

“What about missions?”

“You can stay here when I’m stuck on base, but I’ve got classes this term, remember, I’m helping to mold baby agents. I’m a role model. You’ve got like 6 weeks to sort it out.”

Phil smiled. “And when I can no longer afford to avoid both the rumor mongers and my own apartment?”

Clint paused, removed the arm around Phil’s shoulders so that he could take Phil’s hand instead and then threaded their fingers together and licked his lips, “We really gonna play that game?”

Phil sighed and shook his head and then leaned into Clint’s warm presence. “I guess not.”

They didn’t get to discuss it more, Natasha arrived soon after the phone call, probably tipped off by Fury or Maria, with his complete identity package so he could go shopping.

“I was nominated to introduce you to the vast and obnoxious world of women’s clothing sizes,” she told him, “but first we need to stop by SHIELD medical, they want you to get the HPV vaccine and talk about birth control.”

Phil colored and worked hard not to look back at Clint.

“It’s standard for all active female agents,” Natasha said.

Phil relaxed a little. Right, he knew that.

SHIELD medical was quick, but awkward. One vaccine and one sub-dermal implant plus pamphlet later and they were off. After that she ushered Phil back into the dark sedan and drove them out of the city and merged onto the Grand Central Parkway. “We’re going to Nordstroms,” she told him, “it’s got a good sized selection and decent to high end women’s suits and work clothes, I thought that might make you more comfortable your first days back at SHIELD.”

While the thought of walking the halls of SHIELD with prying eyes and idiots lurking in the background probably planning to test his authority in some moronic manner or another, shopping itself was soothing. No one would know who he was there and that four days ago he had a penis.

The drive would take at least 30 minutes, so in the interim, Natasha gave him the rundown of women’s clothes. Eventually Phil broke into her speech/tirade.

“I still can’t believe they’re not standardized.” Phil grumbled, he knew women’s clothing was labeled differently from the time or two he’d had to grab something for a woman in his command on the go, but he hadn’t realized how different. “Then how do you-” He asked when Natasha confirmed it only to be cut off.

“Painfully.”

“Not even bras?” Phil asked.

“Not even bras, though they do have… less deviation.”

Despite the lack of coherent sizing strategy, Natasha only made him try on a handful of clothing, though more bras than anything else. “Trust me,” she said, “you want these to fit.” After that he trailed behind her offering opinions on color and style preferences. After paying, she dragged him to a small cafe nearby, sat him down and waited until their food arrived before laying out his next few weeks for him in her usual no nonsense manner.

“We’ll need to get you re-certified, that’s a condition of both medical and Fury. Melinda, Maria and I have split up various disciplines. Shooting should be the easiest once you get past the breasts, you’ve lost only an inch or two of height but you’ve got sharp shooter qualifications so you should be able to compensate for that pretty quickly. The stuff with more kick might take a bit since the standard stance can kick back directly into breast tissue.”

There’d been a meeting apparently, one that Fury had not been a part of, thank god. Natasha was firearms, Melinda hand to hand, at first anyway, and Maria was ‘working with assholes in suits who think they can call you a bitch for telling them no’.

There was a moment, after the bill was paid but before they stood up where Natasha paused.

“What?” Phil asked.

“You slept with Clint.”

Phil blinked, realized she’d seen him in nothing but a bra during the fitting and flushed at the number of hickeys and finger bruises on his body, he nodded slowly, worried this was going to turn into a ‘hurt my best friend and they’ll never know you died’ speech.

“That was the first thing you did after you escaped from medical.”

“I know,” Phil said realizing she was at least as worried about him as Clint, it made it easier to be truthful, “and at the time I was lying to myself. A lot.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now,” Phil tapped absently on the surface of their table, “I’m lying to myself less.”

“And Clint?”

“Clint,” He grimaced, not too proud of this, “Clint figured it out before me.” It was selfish, so selfish, to want to cling onto Clint and his companionship, but quite frankly Phil felt that a forced sex change gave a guy a little leeway. “He asked me to stay at his place, I said yes.”

Natasha looked ready to say something else, but she just shook her head and stood up. Phil shouldered on his new coat, perfectly fitted and warmer now that the cold drafts of November couldn’t find as much space to inhabit between the coat and his skin. The drive back was quiet, interspersed with various tidbits of wisdom. The Great Pocket Conspiracy was apparently very important to Natasha but a lot of it just buzzed around in his head, put away for later. His inner arm, where the birth control had been inserted was starting to throb and something about that made a lot of this real. Frighteningly real.

They double parked outside of Clint’s apartment and just as Phil was about to open the car door Natasha put a hand on his arm. “The implant takes seven days to be effective, the pamphlet will tell you it completely diverts your menstruation cycle, that’s a lie, you’ll feel a small amount of emotional upheaval and some general cramping, there’ll be no bleeding, but the subversion of the hormones isn’t quite as clean as they’d like us to believe.”

Phil nodded, his head swimming. “Right.”

Natasha helped him up, dividing the bags between them, but left as soon as Clint opened the door.

Clint immediately reeled him in for a slow kiss which Phil melted into. When they parted Clint smiled at him, “Just wanted to make sure it didn’t get awkward.” He waved Phil with him as he headed to the bedroom. “I cleaned out some drawers, hung up some stuff that I originally had folded, that kind of thing.”

And that was it, he was gone. It was too much kindness, too close to what he wanted and then Clint handed him a set of keys, they looked freshly cut and shiny and they rattled in his hands because he was shaking.

“Oh,” Clint said hugging him, “hey it’s okay, did they give you that birth control implant? Nat was a crazy person when the hormones hit her system.”

Was that it? Maybe. Some of it. Phil deliberately slowed his breathing and pulled away from Clint, smiling slightly to assure him has was okay. Clint looked dubious, but let him go. 

“Someone sent you a gift,” Clint said, grabbing a cardboard box, “I’m betting it’s either May or Hill’s doing so it might just be something useful, but hey, gift!”

There was a piece of thick stationary on top:

Phil,

After reading the reports. Ramonov, May and I discussed your immediate needs. We’ve selected a few gender neutral toiletries, male skin and hair are slightly different than female, We’ve taken the liberty of sending you a few items you might not normally think to purchase. 

Please call on me if you have any questions,  
Maria

 

Underneath the note where a handful of bottles, each with small notes folded and taped to them, a few bars of chocolate and silken fabric covered sack that seemed to be filled with rice. He lifted that note first and then laughed quietly.

“What?” Clint asked.

“She warns me that women’s cramps come in many forms, she suggests heating this for 2 minutes and then laying it across my shoulders. Bras are apparently a tool of patriarchy.” Phil made sure convey Maria’s poorly drawn grumpy face and block quotes that surrounded her description in his tone of voice. “My shoulders have been achy since last night.”

Clint’s thumbs carefully dug into the muscles surrounding his scapula and Phil groaned happily. The pressure was constant and firm and carefully worked its way around his shoulder blades and then up and in where the neck met the shoulder. Warmth tingled through the entire area and his arms tingled all the way down to his fingers. Was this arousal or had his shoulders actually been tight enough to restrict blood flow and nerve endings? Clint leaned in and sucked on a patch of skin under Phil’s ear. Both. Definitely both.

Eventually Phil found himself stripped to the waist, face down on the bed with Clint settling a knee on either side of Phil’s hips and proceeding to pour oil and massage Phil’s skin until he was a melted puddle of relaxation. Clint found every sore place and sensitive patch of skin. After he leaned forward and covered Phil hip to shoulder, pressing lightly and asking permission to slide his pants down and relax him further.

Phil buzzed from the massage, happily agreed and sighed when Clint slid inside him and settled back on top of him in the same position as before, Phil’s legs inside the cradle of Clint’s thighs. Phil was wrapped in Clint, warm and pliant and pleasure slowly filling his senses. The rocking motion was a new up and down, one that Phil didn’t even need to participate in. Clint’s cock drilled down into him in slow slides and he worked Phil up to a sweet rolling orgasm twice before coming himself.

In a haze of satiation, after Clint cleaned them up and settled down next to him, Phil reached out and drew nonsense patterns on Clint’s abs. “I feel like a newlywed.”

Clint tensed and his face shuttered for a long moment before his eyes cleared and he took Phil’s face in his hands and kissed him, long and slow, sucking on his bottom lip as he pulled away. “You’ve been home for me for a long time,” Clint said, “and for a long time I was going to be happy with just hearing your voice in my ear during ops and for a very long time I didn’t realize that was actually a compromise.”

It took him a while to find the words and then longer to find the courage to say them. “I came to you because I thought it was the only way,” Phil said, hands shaking again, “that it was the only acceptable way to come to you,” Clint captured one of his shaking hands and squeezed it, “you puzzled me on so many levels and I,” his voice broke and he was definitely blaming the birth control, “I wanted to be around you, it was easy being around you.”

Clint sighed and then deliberately tucked Phil tighter to his side, whispering a kiss into the crown of Phil’s hair. “We’ve been dating for years, haven’t we?”

Phil laughed wetly, “Yeah, I just figured that out too.”

Suddenly, Clint started laughing, a small chuckle that burst into something a little hysterical. “Holy shit, I think we just got engaged.”

Phil choked on his own breath and then blinked at Clint’s smiling face feeling lighter and happier with the knowledge that Clint was with him for this, no matter what. “I think we did.”

They lazed in the bed for a while, even napping briefly until Clint reluctantly rolled away and muttered something about groceries. He dressed, pressed kisses to whatever part of Phil he could reach and then slipped out. After, Phil stretched carefully and slipped out of the sheets to get dressed only to catch his eye on a strange reflection from the half opened closet door. Inside, there was a full length mirror, probably a result from when Natasha had spent her nights at Clint’s in the beginning. The flash of his own naked body alarmed him enough to shut the door quickly. He meant to leave it but then his unpacked bags of clothes stopped him.

The bags meant he couldn’t avoid this forever, his shoulders slumped and he took a fortifying breath before opening the closet back up. In the mirror stood a woman, with hips and breasts and round face and all the other… stuff that came with a woman. He inspected the reflection carefully. “This is me,” he told himself and the mirror spoke with him, moved with him. He knew he’d been disassociating a little, but to see this being move as he moved was disorienting. 

His height wasn’t much different, only an inch or two shorter. His body had shifted into something close to an hourglass figure, at least, more so than before. Turning, he could see a graceful arch that connected his shoulders to his ass and hips and another carefully sloped line that was his hips to his ankles. His hair though, it was still individually thin, but the hairline had filled back in a bit and the overall length was an inch or two longer. It fell over his head in soft layers, framing his softer face.

He spent long minutes moving his body and watching the person in the mirror move too, until the feel of his hands were his own, instead of a stranger in the mirror. Then he deliberately put on some of the new clothes. Front hooks, Natasha had explained, would be easiest at first. The panties were comfortable, soft and smooth against his skin, but the bra dug into him in places. The only reason he hadn’t taken it right back off and exchanged it for one of the soft sports ones was that he recognized a soreness in his breasts was eased when they were finally supported by the arcane bit of clothing.

He slipped on a pair of jeans that were both tighter and looser than what he was used to, once again the bottoms looked meant to drape artfully over his shoes, but they had spandex so even the tight parts stretched comfortably when Phil did a few deep knee bends. The deep v-neck of the sweater made him feel overly exposed, he’d never actually worn something with that shape before, the material folded over itself like a robe, but it was comfortable otherwise and a look in the mirror assured him that it covered everything that needed covering. He stared at his fully clothed body, touching himself again, reminding himself that this was his body. Eventually he relaxed and tried to put his hands in his pocket.

“What the?” his fingers made it in to the second knuckle and then stopped, “these aren’t pockets, they’re pocket shaped teases.” The Great Pocket Conspiracy indeed. Still, pockets aside, they were comfortable.

Clint came back with two full bags of food and paused in the living room to stare at Phil who self consciously ducked his head. “Women’s clothes are strange.”

Clint swallowed audibly, walked in three long strides to the kitchen where Phil heard the fridge open and then slam closed, he must have just shoved the bags whole into the thing. Clint reappeared, climbed into Phil’s lap on the couch and kissed him dizzy.

“Let’s go out,” Phil said as soon as his lips were free.

“Out?”

“For dinner,” Phil said, stroking at Clint’s back from under his shirt occasionally braving the line of skin under his waistband.

“A date?” Clint asked, eyes looking speculative.

Phil nodded. “There are things,” he said, “that I was afraid of,” he sighed, “things that Phillis can do that Phil couldn’t.”

“Phyllis?” Clint was smiling, but his eyes were now sad.

“With an I,” Phil said blandly, “Maria said it was so I could keep my signature. I think she’s just enjoying herself too much.”

Clint, smart asset that he was, swallowed his laugh by kissing Phil again. “There’s a place on seventh, with grape leaves in the windows, wanna try it?”

Phil did, he really did. Seventh avenue was walking distance, but New York had been having an especially frigid November so Phil and Clint dragged out the heavy coats, scarves and gloves, Clint’s were fingerless, and buttoned up tightly. When they left, Clint made Phil use his brand new keys to lock up and it was an oddly emotional moment, but it passed quietly into the half second pause where Phil reached, stopped and then finished reaching for Clint’s hand.

Even through the two layers of soft cashmere and leather, Clint’s hand was warm inside of his and Phil could feel the small details of the fingers that clenched tightly to his. They walked, hand in hand, fingers intertwined, happily, there was even a point where their bubbly smiles, hidden by scarves, seemed to emanate from their entire bodies and their joined hands swung back and forth wildly. It ended with laughter and a quick kiss pressed up against cold brick face. 

The entire event felt like a novelty. The two of them, sitting across from each other at a small table, a flickering candle in between them. They even held hands across the shiny veneer, Phil’s left in Clint’s right. Clint, being mostly ambidextrous, at least enough to handle eating, meant that even after two steaming plates of delicious food were set in front of them, they didn’t need to let go. So they didn’t. All of these things, Phil had never done before, had only occasionally dreamed about doing them, and they both seemed intent on enacting every shlocky, shmoopy, iridescently, Vaseline lens smeared gesture.

When the desert menus came out, Clint asked the waitress if they had something in the bar for celebrations.

“Celebrations?” Phil asked, eyes skimming the list of sweet confections idly.

“It’s not every day I get engaged,” Clint said, eyes sparkling, but expression perfectly sincere.

The waitress gasped, up until that point she had been polite, pleasant, but distant. Now they found out she was the owner’s daughter and that she already ‘knew’ something was up. “You two just looked so happy. You never see a couple that happy unless there’s happy news like that, hold on!”

They got complimentary glasses of exquisite champagne and a slice, to share, of a three layered, chocolate cake and ganache icing that was almost too lovely to eat. They both got a bite into their mouths at the same time and then let out happy moans as the various shades of chocolate that made up the cake melted on their tongues. Their duet of happiness made them both laugh through the next several bites. 

“I thought it was a metaphor,” Phil eventually said.

Clint put his fork down and took a sip of his water. “It was.. right up until it wasn't.”

“A theme of yours?” Phil was trying to keep it light, despite the hammering of his pulse.

That got Clint’s full attention. He carefully put down his fork again, current bite uneaten and met Phil’s eyes unflinchingly. “I meant it,” he paused, “mean it. Phil I've waited a really long time to feel this way.” Clint licked his lips and looked away briefly. “Didn't think I ever would.”

Phil’s heart clenched and he swallowed past his dry throat. “We are absolutely crazy.”

Clint blinked, but then slowly, a smile appeared, growing bigger and broader by the second. “We are, huh?”

“Yes,” Phil said, meaning so many things. “Also, we should really be at home. Right now.”

Clint’s gaze went heated, never looking away as he raised his hand for attention. “Check!”

They walked back to the apartment fast, it took a lot of self control not to break into a run, but they managed, barely. Once the door was locked and bolted, Clint attached them at the mouth and started stripping them out of their clothing. It was a whirlwind of sexual proportions and Phil didn’t remember all of it aside from Clint’s mouth and hands and arms holding him tight.

He laid Phil out on the bed, kissed his way down to his legs and then proceeded to make him come so many times that by the time Clint thrust home, each rocking motion was like a mini orgasm bursting over his skin. Phil was happy enough for the tiny jolts of pleasure as Clint worked himself to completion while Phil whispered encouragements in his ear. That alone was a distracting sight to behold but apparently there was more at work because suddenly Phil’s body went bright and tight and spots danced in front of his eyes while Clint fucked him through coming his brains out until all he could do was twitch incoherently while Clint came and then cleaned them up.

Phil woke up in the predawn hours, curled around Clint, unable to move. “Too much sex,” Phil muttered into Clint’s skin and then proceeded to poke him in the ribs until there was a response. When Clint became aware enough to understand he kissed Phil gently and slipped out of bed. He returned with Advil, water and the beanbag thing Maria had sent warmed up to the perfect temperature. After swallowing his medication, Clint laid the warm, silken thing on his abdomen and Phil sighed happily. “Maria deserves a raise,” he muttered sleepily.

Clint laughed softly, “I’ve always thought so,” he crawled back into bed, shifting Phil until he was propped in the most comfortable position they could find, the heating pad curled protectively against him. The last thing he remembered before dropping off to sleep was Clint’s hands slowly stroking his hair.

Melinda picked him up the next morning at nine, Clint had slipped out of the apartment earlier with a kiss and a “god, intro to not standing out like a fucking moron in the wilderness class to teach at Too Early The Fuck O’Clock” while Phil was still deciding on what to wear.

“Please tell me you don’t call it that on the paperwork?” Phil asked choosing the more familiar suit and packing away the exercise gear in a bag borrowed from the bottom of Clint’s closet.

Clint’s face reappeared from around the corner, “Would I do that?”

“Yes.” Phil said, fingers tangling on the buttons. Right, women’s shirts were reversed.

Clint had wisely refrained from answering before shouting a ‘see you at the office’ behind him.

Phil slid into the passenger seat after flinging his bag into the back. “I could have taken the subway.”

Melinda shifted the car into gear and snorted, “Navigating the subway while female is an advanced skill.”

That was the first of a thousand comments that had started to dig under Phil’s skin. “I’m not made of fragile glass.”

Melinda sighed and pulled over to where a hydrant had cleared a space and faced him. “No, but you spent 45 years as a man, a majority of it with the body confidence of someone who can and will kill someone if necessary and who doesn’t need a weapon to do it. You are tall, reasonably built looking from inside a suit and white. You’ve never had to think twice about looking a stranger in the eye. I’m not saying these are bad things to have as a woman, I’m saying as a woman the ways not to be noticed are not a man’s and also as a woman, looking some people in the eye means everything from aggression to agreement to sexual contact.”

“Oh,” Phil closed his eyes, “so Natasha wasn’t being funny when she laid out your division of labors.”

“No.”

The rest of the drive happened in silence.

The SHIELD locker rooms were an odd mix of gender segregation and gender neutral. The lockers and changing area had no designated sex, but the showers, toilets, bathrooms, what have you were on opposite ends of the room. There were large towels and robes available just outside the naked areas so that anyone who wanted to, could cover up before hitting the lockers. Phil considered writing a memo about installing individual changing rooms for the extra shy.

So it was a strange feeling, opening his own locker, between Jasper and Maria, to find his old clothing. He swiped the shirt because it was still his favorite, left everything else and then changed, stuffing the rest in as well before locking it.

Melinda led him to one of the smaller rooms. It was nothing but padding, any other equipment had to be brought in for use. It was also one of the ones that locked, sometimes even the mission prep work was classified. For two hours Melinda had him tumble and cartwheel and flip and spin and then tumble some more until at last, despite being dizzy from the sudden change in direction, his feet stayed firmly planted on the floor. After that it was a series of exercises designed to show him his new reach; after all the tumbling, it was almost an afterthought.

When that torture was done it was on to the weights. Not a routine so much as understanding how much strength remained and how his body handled the strain. Mostly he was glad he’d remembered the second dose of pain killers after his morning shower. It turned out that he’d only lost about 10 pounds off his average and was down only about one to two reps, depending on the exercise and some of that might have been down to the twinges in his core every time he solidified it.

At lunch, Melinda added a few things to his tray without asking. “You need a little more fat now and then. Woman’s bodies have a higher percentage and it’s better if you let it stay that way.”

Phil inhaled his lunch without comment. 

Natasha and Melinda swapped out so that he could digest during firearms training. She had been right, it took a few rounds but he compensated easily enough. It would take some regular practice to make it effortless, but now that he knew what to do, it was easy. In an hour they certified him for 80% of the standard issue firearms. It was a pleasant way to spend time, not feeling completely out of his depth for the first time in days.

Melinda reappeared for a quick hand to hand session. It was a shattering relief that his instincts were still there, that his body still moved the same. Yes he had to relearn his reach a bit still and his center of gravity wouldn’t always be in the right place for a throw yet, but he relaxed for the first time when he realized it wouldn’t be like starting over from the beginning, just maybe like from an injury that permanently altered his body somehow. Also his increased flexibility kept surprising him at the oddest moments. Like when Melinda had him pinned down in a way that used to need the jaws of life and a lot of luck to get out of, this time he found he could breath in, relax his hips and suddenly there’d be an inch of leverage that hadn’t been there before.

When Maria appeared after he was showered, never before had he been excited about the private stall showers, and dressed again, he was handed off to her like a baton. They walked companionably through the halls and Phil enjoyed his current anonymity. Soon there’d be a memo devised to explain a few things and then the rumors would spread and Phil would have to arrange for some public demonstrations, but for now, it was easy to walk through SHIELD one step behind Maria Hill.

When they reached her office, Maria closed and locked the door, gestured to the sofa in the corner and waited for Phil to get comfortable.

“Are you aiming for full recertification to active field status?” She asked.

“Of course.”

“Okay then,” Maria took a deep breath and nodded, “listen to me very carefully.”

What followed was the most terrifying, harrowing, disturbing conversation about female field agents, their expectations in the field, how a target might relate to them, how capture and torture often differed for them than for male agents, and on and on and on.

When it ended, Phil sat there, still and white faced. “Is any of that in the manual?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Maria said, reaching for an errant flash drive on her desk, “the people who approve the training manual are all men and are torn between believing that if you act correctly then those things won’t happen and worrying about frightening the recruits.” She reached out and took Phil’s hand in hers and pressed the drive into it. “Take this. Read it. Come back to me after and then we’ll sign your paperwork.”

Melinda was waiting when they finished and offered no commentary on his silence. Clint was there when he got in. “Hey, I meant to pop in and say hello but I got caught up at in range B-” he stopped three steps into meeting him at the door when Phil met his eyes. “What happened? Did someone say something?”

Phil’s eyes sharpened, because Clint’s question bullseyed the problem; the look in his eye told Phil all he needed to know, Clint had also been waiting on tenterhooks for the first person brave enough to say something stupid.

“Did you know,” Phil said carefully, feeling shaky, “that there’s an unofficial manual for our female trainees because the people in charge believe that a woman can behave herself out of rape, even while being tortured for information? Like if you somehow scream the right way while not giving out classified information some asshole isn’t going to think that sticking his dick, or some other object, inside his prisoner isn’t the ultimate power play and chance at degradation, both moral and physical?”

Clint stilled. “Yeah. Most anyone with a long term female partner these days knows. Especially if you’ve been stuck in the same cell as they are.”

“How,” his words failed, “I’ve seen the medical reports! It’s not an uncommon thing! We have the best trained agents for their jobs! If we were actually failing on that level for something that was possible to avoid the entire training process would be re-evaluated!”

What’s worse was that no one told him, he liked to think that Natasha trusted him, though when and how she was recruited meant that she might not have gotten that little talk, but Melinda and Maria, he’d even been held with both them once, a long time ago, but, he felt so out of touch with something that was so basic that any decent human being would be appalled by the lack of care applied to the situation.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Clint said, he hadn’t moved, but it looked like a strain to stop himself.

Phil made an effort to breath evenly, it was hard. He was livid, he was scared, he was twisted up inside because everything about it, from the fact that it existed to the fact that either no one thought he’d care or that they thought he already knew and they assumed he already didn’t care.

“Can I touch you?”

Phil blinked, he’d forgotten that Clint was there, it was easy to with how still he was being. Could Clint touch him? He didn’t know. He shrugged.

“Can I come closer?”

He nodded, yeah, closer was okay. When Clint was inches away Phil rested his head on Clint’s shoulder. “Don’t move, okay?”

“’Kay.” And he didn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Phil was the big spoon, easily curling up around Clint’s body, in some ways it was the most like his male body he’d been in a while. He had no issues with being held and tucked into Clint’s side like something precious, but his slight loss of height and weight seemed to make them both more inclined to instinctively fall into traditional gender roles when their bodies interacted.

Feeling both brave and the need to prove something and also suddenly grateful that Clint had been so careful with him, once they settled into bed and curled into each other, Phil reached down and palmed Clint’s cock. It was half hard and warm in his hands.

“Hey,” Clint said, “no, you don’t have to.”

“I know,” Phil kissed the back of Clint’s neck and then nuzzled it quietly, “and quite frankly if you try to wring another orgasm out of my body I’ll probably sprain something. I want to make you feel good, okay?”

“Always,” Clint gasped as Phil’s hand gave him a gentle squeeze before a slow stroke, “hold on, your hand,” he squeezed some lube into Phil’s open palm, “could you—” but Phil was already reaching for his balls, remembering the last time he’d tried this.

After that, Clint’s contributions were mostly a series of hitched breaths and helpless little thrusts of his hips. Still, when Clint’s fingers reached down and around to press somewhere behind his balls while Phil was busy listening to Clint’s cock with his fingers, he was surprised but still moved his free hand to join in pressing on the brief bit of skin there. He was on his side so he wouldn’t be able to hold it long but it seemed that he wouldn’t have to. Clint whined and then went stiff and Phil managed to both milk his cock empty and rhythmically stroke on that bit of crinkled skin between Clint’s legs. Watching it happen was mesmerizing and Phil had trouble choosing one place to look. Clint’s cock was warm and alive in his hand but Clint’s face was a blissed out mess of pleasure and happiness.

“Wow,” Clint said after they’d cleaned up and relaxed back into bed, “research 1, Clint’s disbelief 0.” He rolled onto his side, facing Phil and running a shy hand down Phil’s clothed side, “Sure I can’t do something for you?”

Phil did an internal inventory, he throbbed a bit between his legs and his nipples were peaked and rubbing against the fabric of his tank top but mostly it wasn’t something that he felt needed to be taken care of, also he was worried about the twinge that still plagued his stomach muscles. “I’m good,” he said finally, curling up next to Clint, “What research?”

Clint froze in Phil’s embrace for a brief few seconds before going lax again. “I was in the middle of my range time when I figured that if you have to try new things, then so do I.”

Something bright and hot burst in Phil’s chest and it took a few long seconds to find his words. “No you don’t.”

Clint looked back at him, eyebrow raised, “Agree to disagree?”

“Fine,” Phil said, still giving Clint a narrow eye.

At SHIELD, Phil only spent three full days in training, by then the initial evaluations were done and it was decided he didn’t need intensive training, only a slightly hopped up regular training routine. Fury looked ready to throw chairs against the wall when Phil stopped in to say he would be resuming desk duty for half days. There may have been a tear of joy in the corner of the director’s eye as he left.

His first job was to decide how to inform the masses, he consulted with Maria and in the end they went with a clear and concise interoffice memo, which was unofficially followed up with a series of sparring matches in the public gym with opponents that had been carefully selected by Natasha. In a week there had been matches between him and Natasha, Melinda, Clint, Jasper, Woo and Hernandez. As a display of power, it was a little vigorous and violent, but it seemed to work. After the first one the amount of conversations stopping abruptly as he entered a room dwindled. Having the opportunity, even the invitation, to stare at him without social stigma, which was basically what public sparring matches were, other than learning experiences, seemed to cut the legs off the worst of the gossip mongers.

Something about sitting behind his desk again settled him, maybe it was the feeling of being productive again, or still, even if it was just paperwork. It showed up in his private life, at home he and Clint had difficulty separating even for simple tasks, but even in that Phil felt more confident in everything he did. They continued to have sex at what Phil felt was probably an alarming rate, but that didn’t stop him from climbing on top of Clint whenever the mood struck and working them both to a sweaty satiated mess. 

Phil also started reading the files Maria had given him, he had to do it slowly and in tiny bursts and he spent a lot of time thinking about growing up female with these facts and how he doesn’t especially remember seeing many new female trainees looking shocked and walking around into walls the way he feels after his thirty minutes of reading for the day. He concluded on some level the data in the files wasn’t a shock to the women SHIELD recruited. 

SHIELD hired smart and savvy, often preferring people who could connect dots over people who could recite back data word for word in their field agents. The horrifying thing was that the agency stats were actually better than the world average and the majority of the world didn’t spend its time strapping on guns to infiltrate deadly organizations.

Some of the problem was that he recognized some of the stats, they came across his desk at least once a year on the evals, but no one had put them side by side the way Maria had. It wasn’t just the sexual assault stats either, it was everything.

He asked during lunch with Maria. “Why aren’t they presented like that in the official reports.”

Maria made a face, sipped her drink and sighed. “It was too inflammatory.”

“What?” Phil choked.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

They finished their lunch and Phil moved to a different topic, too sickened to actually finish eating if they continued on that track. “Woo walked into a wall when he saw me.”

Maria laughed, “He did the same thing that year I wore the red dress to the Christmas shindig.”

“And here I was just feeling special,” Phil sighed dramatically.

The meat of the problem was put out of his mind until the next training session. Maybe it was the reading, maybe it was the new sense of self Phil had developed, maybe it was none of those things, but something pinged his radar in the locker room. 

“You’re a little old to be a trainee,” a voice from behind him spoke.

Phil did not jump, the guy had been loud, “You’re a little clumsy for a trainee.”

“That attitude’s not gonna get you far.”

Phil snorted and turned. “SHIELD recruits from all fields and ages because they do not discriminate someone’s skillset based on their age or occupation. If you are useful to SHIELD, you are useful to SHIELD, the end.” He quoted the opening speech that Fury liked to give to see if the guy leaning casually against the opposite set of lockers was even paying attention on that first day. The guy had that look of someone 2/3rds through training, so sure the rest was going to be easy but unaware that the difficulty level got quintupled in a few days, mostly to ride herd on the egotists whose arrogance was slightly deserved by their ability. 

In a facility like SHIELD, ID tags were very important, so important that workout tags were issued to every agent who used the facilities. It used to be messier and more annoying, but recently R and D had come out with stretchy, rubberized bracelets that had last names on one side and high tech RFID chip on the other, the same kind as in their plastic passes, only because they were left in the lockers for 20 or hours a day on average, they often had greatly reduced access. Phil’s had a backdoor programmed in that he could activate in an emergency. Only a few were allowed that sort of access and it was highly confidential.

Not really interested in any of the conversation this guy might want, Phil closed his locker with his labeled hand. Though he was definitely looking into the locker room records so he could flag this guy in the system. He didn’t react to the name so either he was more observant than Phil wanted to give him credit for or far, far less observant than any SHIELD agent ever should be. Or apparently not reading his interoffice memos.

Phil moved to leave and the guy trailed after him so he looked back and sighed. “Other than pointing out you feel I am objectively old, was there something you wanted?”

The guy made his way to Phil, stopping just in front of him. “I saw your hand to hand, I thought I’d offer some pointers before they started going hard on you.”

Phil narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to explain that he could probably take this guy down without breaking a sweat and trying to undermine the confidence of a fellow agent like that was probably the dumbest move imaginable. Before he could though, the guy chuckled, low and deep in his throat.

“Hey,” he said, holding his hands up in false supplication, “I’m just trying to be helpful,” then he actually laid hands on Phil, his hips, and gently, but forcefully, moved him a few inches to the side, “sorry, but you were in front of my locker.” With that he turned away from Phil and began ignoring him.

He most certainly had not been in his way, but the words stuck in his throat and his heart beat rapidly in his chest. Instead of turning around and explaining everything that was wrong with that man, oh god he hadn’t even managed a name, in complete detail, right down to his probable potty training problems, he turned on his heal and left, told Melinda it wasn’t going to work today and slipped out of the gym and into the firing range across the hall. 

Maria found him two clips later, shaking a little, still squeezing the trigger, but only just finding his aim. 

“Breathe,” Maria said, her voice filtering through the high tech ear protection easily, “you weren’t imagining it.”

“Wondered what took you so long,” Phil said between rounds, anxiety already easing, “pulling the surveillance logs first.”

Maria nodded and the squinted down the range, moving her body right next to Phil’s, the effort it took to relax at the intrusion was monumental. “Are you shooting your initials?” she asked.

“Maybe.” Phil said, finishing the C before stepping back.

Maria took Phil’s place and then smoothly surrounded his initials with the bat signal.

“Showy,” Phil criticized while she was reloading to finish the bottom half, stepping into a separate stall, he queued up another blank sheet and a fresh magazine and continued firing.

“Does that smiley face have an eyepatch?” 

“A gift for Clint,” Phil said blandly.

Maria was carefully detaching the paper target on her lane before grabbing the black sharpie nearby and signing it. “You too,” she shoved it at Phil, who signed reluctantly. She folded it carefully and slid it into the large manila envelope taped to the weapons counter. “We won’t win, but morale improves if I put one in now and then.”

Phil’s lips twitched, “Target practice artwork, such a fickle field.” He tucked his own into the pile of extras on the counter.

By the time the they made it to Maria’s office, Phil’s nerves had settled, though he opted not to go back to the locker room for longer than it took to grab his pass and stuff his clothes into a spare bag. Everyone’s office had just a tiny bit of comfort, something small and compact that could sooth you on the tough days. Maria, considering her job involved not so little dealing with Other People, had chosen, like Phil and Jasper and Melinda and Clint, when he remembered yes he did actually have an office, a good electric kettle. Instant hot water could be applicable in many situations. Today it was tea garnished with honey sticks.

She handed Phil a cup. “There’s usually one in every class.”

Phil sipped the soothing blend of cinnamon and honey and sighed. “I should have known that,” he pursed his lips carefully and cradled the mug, finding it’s warmth calming, “your numbers were always higher than most.”

“You just thought I was a bitch.” 

Phil winced. “No, no I— hardass maybe?”

She choked on her sip of tea, “That’s hilarious coming from you.”

He ducked his head in agreement and they sipped their tea silently for long moments before questions started popping up inside Phil’s head. “So how does it work?” he finally asked.

“Well,” Maria said carefully, “we try to have a certain amount of contact with the trainees in unofficial capacities, especially the outliers, and there are a few trainers who know what to look for instinctively and will usually have a casual conversation with someone.”

“Like Clint?”

Maria nodded. “Barton will usually give a heads up to Romanov if, as he says, his asshole detector goes off.”

Phil closed his eyes and sighed, Clint, that explained a lot. “He provokes them sometimes, doesn’t he?”

She cracked a smile and relaxed back into her chair. “A little.”

“Are the numbers always that consistent?” One per class was actually pretty disturbingly regular. “How do you know, I mean, in the locker room, that was pretty… circumstantial?”

“You mean offering hand to hand advice to a black belt by implying they are a novice going to get their ass handed to them soon? If he knew then he was an idiot who has no problem undermining fellow agents for his own ends and I don’t want him in SHIELD making those kinds of judgments where people can get hurt, if he didn’t then the only conclusion I can come to was that your actual ability didn’t enter into his ‘helpful’” she sneered a little, “offer.”

Maria put her cup down and tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “I do investigate during the nearest evaluation cycle, sometimes, if the situation is serious, I’ll make up a reason.” She turned her monitor to face him. “He was already on my watch list, I’ve flagged the potential candidates for interview based on his class and in/out schedules.”

Phil skimmed the data, it looked well put together, well practiced at— wait— those were forms and mission logs. He checked the ID numbers and frowned. “That’s not a document ID I know.”

“Director Fury and I decided that while technically I have the authority to do whatever I want in this situation, the investigations and facts would be better served by paying the same attention to detail we would any other crime.” Maria shrugged. “As you said, my numbers are the highest of the five of us, it seemed prudent, in case of— issues.”

He scanned the form and noted it was modified from an amalgamation of the standard after action report with casualties and the surveillance mission log forms. “Was there ever a class you didn’t find one?”

“Once,” Maria went tense, “I flagged them all but,” she looked away, “Bosnia happened.”

Phil blinked and recalled a final training mission that had killed 3/4 of the class because of some botched intel and a serious leak in a sister organization that had provided the mission specs. It had been a terrible month, that clean up.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s my fault,” Maria’s head was turned away, looking at the screen, “I’ve found those types can make other mistakes, dangerous mistakes—”

“Maria,” Phil interrupted, “a fire requires more than one type of fuel.”

Maria choked loudly. “I see ovaries haven’t made you any less annoyingly zen on occasion.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the ridiculous amounts of sex I’m having,” Phil blurted, shocked at himself. He’d never done that, talked about his personal life like that, but then again, he’d recently learned his personal life had been pretty pathetic.

Maria spent approximately 15 seconds looking gobsmacked before her eyes glittered with intent. “Christmas eve, ‘03, Barton made me come 3 times before being satisfied.”

Phil snorted warm tea of his nose, his sinuses objected loudly. “Five times that first night, and at least one of those was an accident.” He grabbed a tissue and wipe the remnants of his tea that was leaking out his nose. “Seven if you want to stretch it to the first 12 hours.”

Maria whistled. “It’s a good thing you haven’t been a woman long enough to be entered into this month’s sex pool.”

He opened his mouth, but stopped, honestly, he didn’t want to know. Mostly. Though Phil did realize that something had deflated a little, a tension he hadn’t known was there and maybe it was because they had eventually drifted into their usual casual conversations, exchanging relevant details from each of their purviews that the other needed to be aware of. Phil had asked to be included on the future investigation into Banks, Maria had told him the guy’s name and in return Phil had informed her that he was more than happy to help spread the blame around.

Later that day, Phil adjourned to his office and changed in privacy. He’d contemplated talking to Fury but in reality knew it’d end up with Nick giving him the ‘don’t talk to me about systematic oppression Phil, I like being your friend’ face. Which honestly, Phil probably had a better appreciation for the exasperation that fueled it now.

At six, Clint wandered in, finishing off a popsicle, and plopped heavily onto his couch, arm folded over his eyes. “You know, they gave me the other half of your paperwork, right?”

“You wanted a promotion,” Phil reminded him, “also a good 15% of that is your paperwork that I was doing because I’m a nice person.”

Clint blindly tossed the wooden stick into the trash and sighed loudly. “No, you do that so you have something to hold over my head, also there was some complaint about my chicken scratches, which hasn’t been rescinded even though a majority of the forms have moved to digital. It’s cutting into my range time.” That last one was definitely a whine.

“I think the real question here,” Phil toed off his shoes, and women’s dress shoes were actually not terrible as long as they weren’t heels, apparently they could get away with a lot of hidden elastic, “why when it’s 30 degrees out are you eating a popsicle?” He tucked the toes of his socked feet under Clint’s ribs, wiggling them.

Innocence personified, Clint opened his eyes wide. “I had a craving.”

“A craving?”

“Yup.” Clint let the P pop loudly. Never a good sign. Doom was on the horizon.

“There’s a deluxe sized box of them in the freezer,” Phil said, “must be a big craving.”

“Honestly,” Clint dug out Phil’s feet from under him and pressed one strong thumb into the nearest arch, “it’s a new thing.”

Anything Phil was going to say was lost in a sea of strong fingers wringing out tiny knots of tension from his feet. He let it go in favor of continuing to encourage Clint’s hands to send tingles running to his toes until he found his eyelids drooping tiredly. 

In theory, Phil’s job meant he could have his own driver, something that was almost exclusive to the New York branch, one of the hardest cities to park in. In other branches it took a lot more than a level 7 clearance to rate a private driver whenever you needed it. In practice, Phil didn’t like to abuse the privilege, living in Queens had made it easier to find an apartment with parking, Clint’s place was an easy 30 minute train ride and a half block walk from the entrance. 

They left SHIELD together and trundled down into the F line slowly gravitating towards each other the further from work they went until they found themselves loosely pressed together on the still full train. Clint’s back braced against one of the floor to ceiling poles, his feet spread just wide enough to balance and compensate for the high speed turns the train made, Phil spent most of the ride with his face buried in Clint’s neck, half asleep, relaxing finally into the rhythms of Clint’s body.

Clint led them to a small Indian place that was more dedicated to take out than in house seating but had perfected a menu meant just for that so that all of the food remained hot and edible in their sealed containers. It was, quite frankly, a miracle. While Clint waited, a nearby store caught Phil’s eyes. He tugged on Clint’s jacket and kissed him lightly. “Back in a minute.”

The standard targets SHIELD used were poster sized, the extra space was needed for the larger calibers, otherwise two or three shots and you’d need to replace the target. Phil had been using the half sizes, for the challenge, so the simple wood frame, painted black, that he picked up from the art store nearby was manageable for the 5 minute walk back to the apartment. When Clint saw what he had in his hands he gave Phil a questioning look, but didn’t ask, when they met up back on the sidewalk.

At home, Clint unpacked the food and grabbed silverware and glasses while Phil carefully removed the sturdy cardboard backing and smoothed his thick paper full of holes into place. He presented it to Clint in the living room, where the food had been spread out in front of the couch.

“You didn’t really seem the diamond ring type,” Phil said turning the frame around for Clint to see.

Clint’s face went momentarily slack, taking in the whole of the image before his face brightened and his eyes crinkled in happiness. In three efficient moves he was up, in front of Phil, the frame safely leaned against a nearby wall and sealing their lips together joyfully. After they had kissed the breath out of each other, they rested their foreheads together and Clint stroked his cheek softly.

“I know we’re mostly joking about it,” Clint murmured, “but I mean it, if Fury calls tomorrow and says they’ve fixed it, come in and get your dick back, we’re stopping at city hall first.”

Phil’s heart stuttered and his breath caught hard. They’d said, a lot, but the way they were now, it was easy, even the way Clint said it, they’d have to do it before he was a man again. Because two men was harder and honestly it scared it him but it had become obvious that it wasn’t ever going to be a decision they’d have to make, because they, Phil, had already made it, days ago. “Yes, of course,” he said hoarsely, “of course I mean it too.”

“Okay,” Clint relaxed under his hands, tension leaking out of him, “good. That’s… good.” He walked them to the couch. “Now eat, because we are having so much sex later.”

They didn’t even make it off the couch, which was fine because Clint had restocked just about every corner of the apartment with lube and condoms but also because it felt like full circle. The first time had been partially an act of denial, blustering into it with ideas that it was about curiosity and nothing more, being shocked to his core about the depth and breadth of the experience and then the overwhelming emotion he could no longer control, breaking free.

This time, when Clint slid inside of him, it was with full knowledge of the act and the emotions. It was with a better understanding of his own body than possibly he’d had before being turned into a women and it was with complete understanding that he was deeply in love with Clint Barton. 

He was teetering on the edge of orgasm number three with Clint mouthing at his breast, thumb between them, rubbing circles into his clit, when a wave of scorching hot emotion swept through his skin. “I love you so much,” Phil said into Clint’s hairline, “you are amazing Clint, so amazing and I never thought I could feel so good, but you,” he shuddered, pleasure gathering momentum, “you are perfect,” he rocked down hard, harder, a delicious snap of hips, below him Clint was keening and Phil took over, thighs working overtime to keep the momentum, “oh god, Clint I—”

The orgasm stole his breath and sight and body until it was just this sweet, sweet sensation between his legs where Clint was pumping so good, following just after him.

They slumped, exhausted. Clint kissed his temple and eyelids and cheeks and jaw. “I love you too,” he was hoarse and shaking. “Of course I love you.”

Phil leaned back enough to find Clint’s eyes, moist with emotion. “Clint,” Phil said shakily, “you make easier to be afraid.”

There was a sob, from Clint, possibly, but then he was enfolded in a bone cracking hug. 

A long time later, they cleaned up the food and themselves and Clint reappeared with two popsicles and settled on the couch next to Phil, finding something mindless to watch on the TV. Phil took his popsicle suspiciously and watched Clint dig into his, enthusiastically. Phil sighed, assuming he’d find out eventually.

After that, things settled inside Phil’s mind and body. While the entire experience had been alternately harrowing, terrifying, disturbing and confusing, he couldn’t deny that even only far enough in that he couldn’t see the ending yet, it had brought him something amazing and precious. So the rest, could go hang, for all he cared.

So when the thing with Banks came to a head much sooner than either he or Maria had expected, well, it went pretty spectacularly.

Banks made two more attempts to undermine his confidence, first by casually sauntering up to him at the range and offering to be his friend because he’d noticed that ‘she’ hadn’t been around any of the communal areas or a part of any of the encouraged study groups. Apparently he’d decided that they were on different class rotations, not a terrible leap, but that ‘she’ was shy because she was so much older than the average trainee. 

On the surface, it sounded reasonable, only that Phil wasn’t a trainee and had his own office and access to the senior agents break room, so of course he wouldn’t be seen in the places Banks had mentioned. 

“I’m really not worried,” Phil said, keeping his stance neutral, but eyes glaring his ‘we are not amused’ glare. Clint had named it. Clint was not allowed to officially name anything. Didn’t mean he didn’t try. “Now,” Phil repositioned himself and took aim again, “I’m busy, please leave.”

Phil felt the shift seconds before the hands molded to his shoulders, his entire body flinched out of the instinctive reaction to turn and incapacitate because he was using live ammo and in general close combat hand to hand wasn’t a good idea in the firing range.

“You’re standing all wrong,” Banks said in his ear, “look at that, right off the target.”

“Oh really?” Phil said, not even trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “No one’s complained about my range scores yet.”

“Here,” Banks pushed at his shoulders, pulling them back until he was just on the edge of an unnatural arch and his, yes, he was looking down Phil’s shirt, wow. “Breathe with me.”

He pressed their bodies together and Phil swallowed back nausea and tensed incrementally harder. “Excuse me?”

“Breathe,” he tapped Phil’s sneaker clad feet, forcing them a few inches wider and almost unbalancing him, making him to fall back into Bank’s embrace, which he completed by putting his arms around Phil’s outstretched ones and cupping his hands where they held the butt of the gun. 

“In, out and…” his hands forced Phil’s finger to squeeze on the trigger, but the stance he’d been forced into, the tension in his body and the slight raising of his arms when Banks wrapped around him made the bullet go wide, hitting only the inner edge of the middle circle of the target. “See?” Banks said, not loosening up yet, “much better.”

Phil mashed his foot into Bank’s instep, flicked the safety on the gun with the distraction, then jammed his elbow back until Banks wheezed as his solar plexus complained. At which point, Bank’s hands involuntarily released the gun which Phil placed on the counter before turning and pushing Banks away from his personal space. He sprawled on the ground, still gasping.

“Never,” Phil said, “ever, come up behind someone and touch them when they have a live gun in their hands.”

A look, quick and gone before Phil could categorize it for sure, flitted across Banks’ face, it might have been rage, but it cleared and a half smile replaced it. “I was just trying to help.” He raised his hands, palm up, in supplication. “SHIELD can be tough for some people.”

“The only,” Phil said, taking the gun back, popping the clip and the the chamber, “unsolicited help I’d accept would be from an instructor, probably because they’d know better than to surprise the person shooting the gun. Everyone else, asks first.”

He turned on his heel and left, dropping the weapon and clip with the range master, who looked at him a little wide eyed, he must have seen the shove, oh well, but said nothing.

Heavy footsteps behind him told Phil Banks had followed him out.

“Hold on!” He yelled.

Phil briefly debated just walking faster, but ultimately decided it probably wasn’t worth it. He turned. “What?”

Banks jogged to him, looking slightly ruffled and unkempt. “Look,” he said catching up, “I just wanted to say that I understand why you overreacted, but you should probably not do that again, other people might not be so calm and might try to report you.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Report me? Really?” He resisted the urge to cross his arms, he’d noticed it tended to make his breasts more prominent and wasn’t giving this guy another chance at a free show.

“Remember orientation?” Banks was looking more and more sure of himself and Phil was suddenly very interested in his spy craft scores, because this was either really pathetic or really, really arrogant, the second could sell a lot. “They told us about bullies and unprovoked aggression?”

Phil swallowed a laugh by frowning harder. He’d written that part specifically. Adults balked at being called bullies, but if you spelled it out, gave adult oriented examples, a lot of borderline cases figured it out in time. “Don’t worry,” he gritted out, “no one is going to report me for unprovoked aggression.”

Banks looked unconvinced but nodded. “If you say so.” He left, jogging in the direction of one of the smaller gyms.

“I do say so,” Phil answered to his retreating back, just about ready to be done with it. 

The third attempt Banks made, was over a week later. Phil had finally relaxed, Banks had made himself scarce around him and he’d slowly been taking up more and more of his original duties as the need for hours of training a day waned. Though it was amusing to watch Sitwell spend 20 minutes trying not to stare at his chest during their first lunch meeting. 

Finally Phil sighed and put down his fork, “Oh for gods sake, look before you sprain something, but it’s the last time I’ll give you permission.” In the end, it didn’t feel like a violation, he was dressed and armored in his suit and he and Sitwell, over the years, had experienced several unfortunate incidents of seeing each other naked. It felt more like gentle ribbing than anything else.

“I,” Sitwell finally said, “have exactly six questions for you,” but he was smiling.

“And I,” Phil said, smiling back, “am never, ever going to answer them. Ever.”

They laughed and then got back to business.

Their second meeting was interrupted by Clint rushing in, ever present popsicle in his mouth, and then promptly curled up in a corner of the couch, attempting to look like he’d been there the whole time. “Don’t mind me,” he said when they stared at him, “I just want a good seat before the show starts.”

Before he could ask, his phone rang. Phil grabbed his extension. “Coulson.”

“Don’t say I never give you anything,” Maria’s voice said into his ear, “also, I’ve got your office camera up on my screen, make it good.” She hung up.

Phil’s eyebrows went up, what on earth— someone knocked on his door. “Come in.” In trooped three trainees, SHIELD liked to tag them pretty obviously inside the building so that no one accidentally asked for something beyond their abilities in an emergency. In this case, they’re all in exercise clothing, but they’d all obediently grabbed the small black pins that signified trainees on their way out of the gym area. There was talk about color coding the badges and wrist bands in some way, but the idea was caught up in committee, arguing that it might be akin to wearing brass in a war zone. Phil thought maybe they were thinking too hard about it, not every strata needed to be coded and indexed.

“Sir” the first one said as he walked in, but blinked and added an s when he took stock of the occupants of the office. Phil glanced at his band, it was Goodman, Sitwell had just been remarking on his overall performance. Behind him came Franks, a smaller woman with glasses in thick frames that still managed to look fashionable. She was part of the specialty recruitment program, not meant to be a full agent, but smart enough to eventually get there if she chose. Her file filtered through Phil’s head, she was a PhD in micro engineering. Then finally, shuffling in last, limping a little, was Banks. Looking like a combination of resentment and cat with the canary.

This _was_ going to be good.

Especially considering Sitwell was in the chair behind the desk, he’d needed to log into the system and bring up some files, so it was Phil was in the visitor’s chair.

They froze after their entrance and Phil was feeling theatrical, so he let it go on until Sitwell, who had a nose for this stuff said, “Well? Can we help you?”

The woman, Franks, bit back a smile, Phil noted, he liked her already, she looked like she’d figured out exactly what was going on first. Goodman narrowed his eyes, he too knew something was going on, very nice.

“I was asked to corroborate a story,” Goodman said neutrally, “by Agent Banks.”

Banks was only just getting an inkling that something unexpected had happened, but he was undeterred. “Agent Goodman witnessed an altercation between myself and Agent Franks.” He was addressing Sitwell, Phil was beginning to wonder how he’d made it into the candidate pool in the first place. “I’m not sure what started it,” Banks said, “we were talking and then she swept my leg, badly.”

“Let me guess,” Phil said, turning his chair so that he was no longer in 1/4 profile, but facing the newcomers fully, “he was critiquing your form?”

Banks, because he was apparently incredibly bad at reading the emotional temperature in the room made an ‘ah ha!’ face. “It’s your fault! What, did you tell someone how I dared to breath the same air as you?”

“Why?” Phil asked, “Have you been getting the cold shoulder?” He looked at Franks and Goodman who were sharing a look between them. Yeah, someone had noticed his pattern and compared notes. On the couch, Clint looked relaxed as ever, sucking on his popsicle, but Phil could see the tension in his shoulders and arms, Clint hadn’t known Banks had laid a hand on him.

“Okay, that’s it,” Banks said, clearly looking annoyed now, “small misunderstandings is one thing, but this has clearly been a campaign of misinformation.”

“A campaign of misinformation.” Phil repeated, just to be sure. “Really?” he said slowly, “You feel you are the target of a deliberate campaign against you.”

Behind him, Clint choked on his popsicle.

“What would be the point?” Phil asked.

“You tell me!” 

“Well,” Phil said, “I ask what would be the point because if I wanted to,” he cast around for the right word, “ruin your reputation. All I’d have to do is,” he paused for dramatics, “sit back and let you run off a cliff of your own making.”

“How dare you!,” Banks lunged, only to be stopped by both Franks and Goodman, “You bitch! Agent Coulson, you see what I mean?”

Franks lost it then, choking back a laugh behind her hand. Goodman kept it together, but was sharing a look over his shoulder with Clint.

“Agent Banks,” Phil stood then, straightened his jacket, buttoning it back up, "through our handful of interactions, two things have become abundantly clear, first that someone needs to start taking his inter office memos more seriously." He stepped up to Banks, for the first time realizing they were the same height. “Second that you’re fired,” Phil said, “you’ve technically been fired for a while, we were just behind on the paperwork.”

Banks mouth flapped up and down. “What?”

Phil held out his hand, “Agent Phil Coulson, pleasure to meet you.”

Banks took his hand automatically before snapping out of his daze. “What?”

“Normally I’d say welcome to SHIELD, sometimes stuff gets weird, but,” Phil said, removing his hand from Banks’ and resisting wiping it off on his jacket, “seeing as you’re no longer working here, it seems like a waste of time.”

“You can’t do that!” Banks raged, face finally losing the last of its calm veneer.

“You’ll find,” Phil said, moving to lean casually on the edge of his desk, “I can. In fact I am one of the five people in this agency that can fire you for cause and never have to explain myself to anyone beyond Director Fury and Nick,” Phil gave Banks a small smile when he made a strangled sound at someone so casually using the director’s first name, “well, he trusts me. It’s also a privilege I’ve rarely used, so when it happens, well, no one tends to question it.”

“You’ve never fired anyone?” Banks seemed to have derailed.

“Oh I fire people all the time,” Phil said though not really as true as he was making it sound, “I just rarely find someone who is both so obviously unqualified and repugnant as a human being make it this far. You’re kind of an oddity among the senior staff really. There are bets, do you, by any chance, have a congressman in the family?”

“No!”

“Senator?” Phil guessed, “Really rich uncle?”

“Lucky rabbit’s foot?” Clint threw in.

Sitwell joined in with, “Agent Hill’s long lost brother?”

Phil wagged a finger at him, “I’m telling her you said that.”

“We,” Franks gestured between her and Goodman, “thought it might be a combination of a secret alien conspiracy to overthrow the government one incompetent agent at a time and poor early childhood nutrition.”

“I was never fat!” Banks roared.

Goodman smirked but Franks had a bit of guilt around the edges of her eyes, she didn’t feel good about the fat joke, even if she knew it would hit home. Phil wondered if she wouldn’t be interested in the advanced interrogation tactics course.

“Well,” Phil broke in before it got physical, there were too many people and his office wasn’t actually that large, “it’s neither here nor there.” He picked up his extension and hit the 3rd button from the top. “Tom, I need someone in my office for an exit interview.” 

Phil hung up after the confirmation. Exit interview was a kinder, gentler, quicker way of saying I’ve fired someone, please securely escort them to collect their personal belongings and then stare blankly at them as they complete their termination paperwork.

Tom worked fast, exit interviews sometimes went sideways so he liked to get someone in place quickly. As Banks was being led away he demanded to talk to someone else, Director Fury. It was a little funny considering Phil had made a point of mentioning that they were friends, but he supposed Banks was a little desperate. What he hadn’t expected was the hear the director’s voice booming from the hallway.

“I’m Director Fury, nice to meet you, you’re still fired. There, we talked.”

Everyone left in the office laughed and Phil had no idea why he hadn’t realized that if Maria had taken the time to tip off Clint, then she definitely would have taken the time to tip off Nick. 

When the commotion outside died down Phil turned his attention to Franks and Goodman and cleared his throat. “You two,” he said pointing at them, “set him up.”

“It’s possible,” Franks said, “after hearing a rumor about an awesome take down in the range, Agents Goodman and myself had a theoretical conversation about various possible situations.”

“But we never actually planned anything,” Goodman added.

Clint tossed his now finished popsicle into the trash. “What I wanna know is how you got him to come to Coulson when Hill and Sitwell pretty evenly split his trainee duties for this semester.”

“But Agent Coulson’s name is still on most of the paperwork,” Franks said.

“Yeah, half the class called me Coulson, for approximately 3 days, after which I interacted with 90% of them at least once and in general, SHIELD tends to hire people who can figure that sort of thing out.” Sitwell said.

Clint stood and stepped up to the two trainees who, to their credit, looked mostly unafraid. “But how did you get him to come here?”

“I suggested Agent Hill,” Franks said.

“Which,” Phil guessed, “he immediately turned down either because he’s had a bad interaction with her or that she’s female in general.”

Goodman nodded, “Exactly. So I suggested Agent Coulson, figuring if he was dumb enough to do even 1/10th of what the rumor mill said, then he couldn’t have known that was you.”

“You could have just gone directly to Agent Sitwell,” Phil conjectured for them, leading them through it because he had a good idea about the ultimate answer, but he wanted to see if they’d admit it.

“Well,” Franks said reluctantly, “that wouldn’t have taught him a lesson, would it?”

“And?” Phil prompted.

They froze, then looked at each other, then shrugged. “And it was hilarious.” Franks said.

Clint’s arms darted out faster than they could move and soon they found themselves being enthusiastically hugged. “You two are my new favorite trainees,” he announced and then bounced out of the room.

Franks and Goodman looked flummoxed until Goodman finally questioned, “That’s not necessarily a good thing, is it?”

“No,” he and Sitwell answered.

Later, before he headed home, he popped into Maria’s office. “I’m ready to sign those papers now.”

“You read all the material?” She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, but was also already reaching for a nearby folder.

“Even the folders marked ‘really dense articles that only Phil Coulson would want to read’.”

“Good,” She slapped the paperwork down in front of him, “not sure I could get away with giving Barton a second teaching assignment in a row that grounds him.”

Phil paused, pen raised over the line asking for his signature. “What?”

“He came to me while you were in medical, told me he didn’t want to go in the field with anyone else if there was a chance you’d come back,” Maria said, “Romanov too, though she was easier to find a way to make indispensable, I just specially assigned her to your training.”

“Barton asked to be taken out of the field?” Phil asked, “For me?”

Maria tilted her head and her face softened. “Of course he did Phil.”

Chest and throat tight, Phil didn’t say anything else, he just signed the paperwork and handed it silently back to Maria.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint greeted him at the door with a suspiciously wide smile. On the table was dinner, moved from takeout containers to dishes and a medium sized package, wrapped in purple, sparkly paper and a silver bow.

“Did I black out and miss an important date?” Phil asked.

“Naaw,” Clint said, “that’s my job.”

“This is why I asked, you see my confusion.”

Clint was busy taking Phil’s jacket off and directing him to the nearest chair. “Hill told me you signed the papers for active field duty.”

“Yes, that reminds me,” Phil allowed himself to be led, and swiftly toed off his shoes as soon as he sat, “she said you voluntarily took a desk job for me.”

Clint froze, caught out before moving onto chagrined. “Yeah, but I knew it was only temporary.” He leaned in and kissed Phil on the nose.

“Sure of me, huh?” Phil reached out and pulled Clint back in for a proper kiss.

“Yes.” Clint went serious for just a moment before brightening again. “And I figured it was time for a celebration.”

Phil raised an eyebrow and then deliberately checked his watch. “You couldn’t have known more than 45 minutes.” 

Clint spent about thirty seconds making increasingly hilarious faces, the kind he made when he remembered that his brain was not necessarily other people’s brain. “So, okay, it’s sort of an anniversary, kind of. It’s a numbersversary.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You signing the papers just made it more awesome.”

“Numbers-versary?”

“Last night,” Clint ducked his head, cheeks flushing, “remember when we—?”  
“When we?” Phil had a good idea of what ‘when we’ meant, but the blush high on Clint’s cheeks was intriguing. 

Clint pointed toward the bedroom and made an exasperated noise. “With the awesome sex.”

“Ah,” Phil started looking through the bowls and plates on the table. It was a lot of food, the amounts that Clint typically bought before what he thought was going to be a marathon amount of physical activity. If it was in the apartment, that usually meant sex. Phil made a note to carb load. “You mean when we knocked the lamp off the table?”

“Actually,” Clint shuffled to his side of the table and sat, “yes that exactly.”

“What about it?” Phil took a large bite of chowfun.

“Well that was our, your, 99th.” Clint ducked his head, if he’d been standing in a field, Phil would swear Clint would be digging his toe into the ground.

“99th what?” But then something sparked, a happy memory of Clint murmuring seven into his ear proudly and fondness and shock filtering through Phil’s body at the pronouncement. “99th orgasm?”

“Right!” Clint brightened, like now that he’d gotten that out into the open it was less awkward. “See, I had a plan—”

“Oh my god, a plan.” Phil dramatically thumped his head on the table.

“Stop that! It’s a good plan! You’ve liked parts of it already!” Clint assured him valiantly. “I did research for this plan! And I did an inventory of my emotions for this plan!”

Phil froze in horror. “Oh my god, you went to psych.”

Clint froze too. “Maybe? A little bit? Just to get some reading materials!”

“So,” Phil said carefully, “no one’s dead?”

“Asshole,” Clint’s eyes narrowed at him but he couldn’t hold it long and eventually started laughing. “Look, round numbers are a thing, if I’ve learned anything in my life that doesn’t relate to life or death or hitting the target, it’s that round numbers are a thing and I thought it’d be fun if we celebrated the round number of something really fun.”

That was when Phil’s eyes were drawn to the sparkling purple package, which really, it was impressive that they hadn’t remained there from the start. Under the low light of the overhead - dimmers were weirdly a Thing in Clint’s building - it sparkled brightly and innocently. It reminded Phil a little of Natasha. Phil pointed to the box, “so the gift is celebrating my 100th,” and honestly that was a bit of a trip and also a little satisfying, “orgasm provided by you.”

Clint’s mouth flattened. “No, it’s not about me, not like that,” he paused, gave Phil a proud look, “Okay a little about that, but not really. It’s about your 100th orgasm as a woman and how I don’t want you to think that I’ve forgotten who you really are and maybe how sometimes I think I see you worrying about forgetting who you are.”

Like a punch to the stomach, Phil’s lungs lost air. Because sometimes, at night, after they’d done something outdoors, in public, Phil would find himself contemplating the ease of it and wondering if maybe it wasn’t better if R and D didn’t figure it out. Then he’d never have to make a decision. Still though, something about hearing Clint call him a woman struck wrong inside of Phil’s head, he wasn’t a women, even if he understood what Clint actually meant. “Clint,” he said rustily, “I don’t know—”

“Hey, no, ” Clint interrupted, “it’s going to be awesome, magical even” he made jazz hands and Phil snorted in laughter, “let’s eat first and then you can open my gift.”

Phil has gotten better at compartmentalizing inside his new body so he easily put away the churning feeling inside his chest and ate his fill. It had been an excellent day so far and there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t be an excellent night. Also, he was hungry.

After the food, they cleaned up silently until finally all that was left was for Clint to pick up the present and hand it to Phil with unsteady hands. He held the box while Phil ran his fingers under the taped edges and then gave up when his own unsteady hands ripped the edges. The paper went quicker after that. The box was white underneath and the top slid off easily to reveal purple tissue paper. When he pushed that aside his breath caught. “What?” Phil looked up from the box and into Clint’s eyes, “Is this, do you want me to…” he trailed off unable to finish the sentence.

“No,” Clint said softly, “I’m not ready for that. Yet.” He lifted a hand, leaving his right to support the entire box between them, and cupped Phil’s cheek. “I want to give you a gift.”

Phil blinked, looked down into the box and then back at Clint. “I don’t understand.”

Clint’s gaze went warm like honey and he put the box on the table and reached inside for the pale, L shaped, hyper realistic, silicon dildo. “I have an idea, I want to suck your cock.”

“Hnn?” Phil meant to ask an actual question but Clint’s words short circuited something inside him and a wet ache throbbed between his legs.

“This,” Clint said slowly, lifting the strange shape in his hand, “slips into this,” he lifted a supple leather harness in his other hand, “fits into it like this,” he moved them together with practiced movements, “so that when I put this on you,” he moved the now connected objects together so that Phil could see how they’d sit when buckled to his hips, “this part,” he ran a finger up the part that was standing at a 90 degree angle inside the harness, “is inside you.”

Phil blinked, stared and then, clarity was a deep throb of want inside him. Okay then. Clint was obviously a genius. He tackled Clint, kissing him pliant and then hungry. Eventually they parted, clothing wrinkled and breathing heavily. Phil touched their foreheads, “why aren’t we in the bedroom?”

Clint laughed into his mouth, kissed him again, then grabbed the harness and dildo and walked them into the bedroom. He let the harness drop onto the exceptionally well made bed, which was a first, Phil wondered if maybe Clint had thought about rose petals but was distracted by Clint’s mouth on his chest, wetting the thin fabric of the bra he was wearing.

When had his shirt gotten unbuttoned? Didn’t matter because Clint was nuzzling at any skin he could reach while his hands deftly unbuttoned and unzipped Phil’s pants. 

“Wait,” Phil gasped as Clint mouthed gently at the corded muscle on his neck, “you too, naked, you need to be naked too.”

Clint’s shirt and pants disappeared with speed and then he was back at holding Phil, running his hands down the bare planes of Phil’s back, letting his fingers dip under the waist of his pants, gentle pressure pushing them down far enough that gravity took care of the rest. Then Clint slid smoothly to his knees and worshiped the skin low on Phil’s belly before leaning back on his heals and looking up, lips flushed.

“Socks,” he said, gently taking each of Phil’s feet onto his knee and rolling down the thin women’s socks that didn’t bunch up in his shoes, until they were gone and then kissing the inside of his knees before letting the foot go. “Underwear,” he whispered into the elastic at Phil’s hips, gently hooking his teeth into it and then pulling them over the swell of Phil’s ass until they too fluttered off like an unneeded petal.

Phil was guided out of the puddle of his clothes and moved to stand directly in front of the bed, then Clint arranging the harness at his feet, slicking the fake cock with extra lube and sliding it slowly up his legs until he kissed the nearest thigh and whispered, “a little wider?” and Phil was helpless but to slide his feet a few more inches apart so that Clint could press the blunt head inside of him and oh, that was nice, it made his knees weak and he had to brace on Clint’s shoulders which were right in front of him.

“Okay?” Clint asked.

“Mmmhmm,” the words stuck in his throat, “yes, keep going.”

“Okay, hold on, I need to tighten the straps a bit before we finish here.” Clint’s hands moved, caressing his skin and the leather covering it in equal measure, making sure there were no twists or snags that would get in the way. “There’s a ridge in the inside angle,” Clint told him, “should sit right at the sweet spot,” he pushed the dildo in until Phil felt something come flush with his skin. “Feel the ridge?” He moved it in and out of Phil very carefully.

“Yes,” Phil moaned, “yeah I feel that.” The sensations were different, feeling penetration while standing up was new, and Clint seemed to have no self esteem issues in this area because what was inside him was a bit wider and textured than Clint was but it felt delicious and he was so caught up in the sensations the minute movements elicited that he missed Clint finishing tightening the straps until finally he sat back on his heels again and murmured, “amazing.”

Phil looked down to find Clint’s eyes all pupil and his breathing erratic. He turned around, giving him a good view, forgetting that there was something inside him, pressing on all the good spots. His knees almost buckled again but Clint caught him and lowered him to the bed. That also felt amazing and he realized his bra was still on so he took it off and that seemed jiggle something as well.

“Ready?” Clint asked.

“20 minutes ago.” Phil said, his body, legs, shifting to accommodate Clint finding his way between them.

Clint leaned down and took him in his mouth and that made his whole body move. “That’s it,” Clint whispered, “rock your hips.” He went back to sucking, hand encouraging Phil’s hips to shift. 

Each move, in and out, shifted the firm but yielding thing inside him, pressed the soft ridge against his clit and the motions, they were easy, familiar, safe and Clint’s mouth looked hot and welcoming. Maybe it was the realistic skin or the pleased noises that came muffled from Clint’s mouth with each shallow, careful thrust or maybe it was the way it was attached to him, providing counter pressure with each move, pressure that was perfect and shockingly good.

Maybe it was the way Clint’s eyes looked up at him from under his lashes and his cock was easily seen under the thin fabric of his boxers, hard and aching, but suddenly, like a phantom limb, the sensations extended and what was once internal was now somehow external. He was getting his dick sucked, slow and wet and it was Clint’s lips and tongue that were providing the stimulation. At once, his back arched in unexpected pleasure and he reached a hand out flailing, it was caught by Clint, who laced their fingers together.

“Don’t stop,” Phil gasped, afraid that if Clint pulled away it might end, “Jesus, I can feel it.”

Clint waggled his eyebrow but continued his slow, torturous, sucking. Phil laughed, even that felt good.

It went a little hazy after that and Phil’s gasps and subtle shifting against the sheets filled the room with sound and were a perfect counterpoint to Clint’s quiet slurps and hums. His body thrummed with the pleasure of it until it sparked, hot and liquid over his nerves and his hips jerked rudely but Phil couldn’t stop it and his insides contracted hard while at the same time his lower body, his ass, did an inward tuck and roll that was familiar but nearly forgotten, but he was too far gone to analyze it because he was coming and dark spots danced around his head and he must have cried out but it was all washed away in deep, desperate pleasure that rocked his entire being.

He came down from it slowly, the sweat cooling on his body before he could move again and Clint was beside him, curled up sideways on the bed next to him, running a hand through his hair. 

“Okay?” Clint asked, his face a sea of happiness.

“Oh my god.” Phil said, turning to kiss him, the hardness still inside him, shifting with aftershocks. “You? What about you? Because that was, I mean, that was.”

“I’m good,” Clint smiled wider, looking a little blissed out, “really, I’m good.”

Phil looked down and saw a large dark patch on Clint’s boxers and looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Clint stretched and then started undoing the buckles and straps surrounding Phil’s waist and legs.

“I’ll say this for certain,” Phil said, yawning as Clint carefully pulled the dildo out, which also felt really nice.

“What?” Clint asked while removing the straps and then wrapping it in a clean towel to clean later.

“Popsicles,” Phil yawned again, moving to work his way under the covers, “are never coming off the shopping list.”

With the papers signed, Phil’s days became a lead up to his first mission without a dick. Which he was having less and less trouble thinking about in that way. Maria walked him through some paperwork and someone from medical made what had to be the most awkward visit to his office of all time.

“We skipped a few things on your initial visit,” she said, hands bunched unhappily in her lab coat pockets, “Dr. Roberts thought you might be uncomfortable with some of the standard OBG/YN practices.”

“Like what?” Phil asked.

“Um,” she chewed on her lips and self consciously tucked a stray hair form her messy bun behind her ear, “your age would normally include you in a few tests and your unique circumstances cleared you for a few procedures that normally we’d usually only refer to younger patients.”

Phil blew a slow breath out through his mouth. Dr. Roberts was going to get a talking to about shafting underlings with uncomfortable conversations. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry he put you in this positions, but I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about and I assure you I won’t judge you or remember your name with grievance if we were to ever interact again.”

“We skipped the pelvic,” she blurted.

“What?”

“Dr. Roberts decided that SHIELD tech had sufficient visual acuity to pass for a temporary exam, but if you want to be certified by medical you need to finish out the mandatory parts of the female exam process. That’s a pelvic and a mammogram. We try to catch cancer early at SHIELD.” She finished and then looked like she was bracing for impact.

Phil sighed, he’d read these words on reports, not often, there weren’t a lot of female agents over 40, it was still a rare commodity. “Right. Do me a favor?”

“Yes sir?”

“Make sure it’s not Dr. Roberts?”

“Yes sir.” She turned to leave.

“Wait,” Phil waited until she turned back around, “there was something else.”

She looked uncomfortable again but squared her shoulders and carried on. “Initial intake into the system includes some planning for the future, like the 401k and pension plans from HR, for men we freeze sperm and for women we freeze eggs. Life as a SHIELD agent can be dangerous and it’s actually fairly easy to render someone infertile in this job, especially since we tend to deal with the results of accidents with radiation.”

Phil nodded. “Right, did something happen to the cold storage?”

She blinked. “No sir. It’s just that.” She paused, seemed to come to a decision and then let some excitement show on her face. “Normally, if a female agent joins us after 38 years of age, we don’t normally offer to freeze her eggs, women, unlike men, only get a finite supply, they’re born with it and that’s why age is such a big risk factor in later in life pregnancies. It’s not just the frailty of the human body, but the age of the eggs.”

“I’m 45 years old. And I also have a sample of original genetic material housed in deep freeze somewhere.” Phil said, deeply uncomfortable with the whole idea, but he’d done it because when he’d first joined up the idea of not being prepared for any eventuality was more disturbing.

“Yes but,” she paused again, “your genetic changes, the differences, were all modeled after the closest structure in your original body.” She waited for him to nod. “So with your eggs, and you do have them, they would have been modeled after whatever sperm was available, we think that means that despite being 45 years old, your eggs are only weeks old. It’s… unprecedented.”

Phil stared. “Is this about medical wanting to experiment?”

She stared at him and then her shoulders slumped. “Agent Coulson, can I sit?”

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

She sat. “My name is Karen, we met once before. On the day they brought you in.”

The flush of embarrassment was involuntary and upsetting. He didn’t remember a lot about the first few hours. The transformation had eaten up all of his body’s resources and then some but it had also hurt. Hurt in a way he didn’t like to remember. Internal and untouchable and for the first few hours they hadn’t wanted to medicate him, just in case.

“I ran most of the initial lab work,” Karen said, “I’m the one who tested your hormone levels and reminded the doctors that while alarming, losing your penis wasn’t actually the worst that could happen.”

Something clicked in Phil’s memories. “You’re the one who ordered the HPV vaccination.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “and the fact that you’ve signed off on your paperwork means that you’ve decided you can live like this if you have to, but that doesn’t mean you’ve thought about all of the possibilities.”

Phil tapped his fingers on the desk, he’d read Maria’s damn file, what else was there?

“Look,” Karen sighed, “they’re working on it, but the progress is slow and I think that in the meantime, you should do what you would do before this happened, take every advantage you can, prepare for every possible option.”

Phil looked at her and to her credit, she looked right back. “And you’re curious,” he said, very sure.

Now she ducked away, “Yes, alright, I’m a scientist, I’m curious, but I also think it’s something you should think about.”

So he did.

And on the day he went into medical, apparently to allow people to legally torture him with procedures that had to still be medieval, he thought about it. Through spreading and scraping and smooshing, oh good god, the smooshing, he thought about it. And when it was time, he let them stick a long needle into his abdomen and suck out the scientific curiosity that were apparently his eggs.

There were other things to do, to prepare, once it became obvious that this was a long haul stay, he made an appointment with his tailor. A long appointment. It came with an NDA. And time for hyperventilation. When Bill was done freaking out, he listened to Phil’s requirements carefully. It wasn’t too different, room for various weapons, tailoring to hide holsters, etc. And one other things.

“Pockets,” Phil said firmly. “Real. Pockets.”

Bill laughed and explained that only amateurs solve the pocket problem by taking out the pockets. He would be fine.

There was a moment, when Bill had him trying on every style, every fabric, to see what worked, what he felt comfortable with when he slid on a close fitting vest and buttoned it up. At first he dismissed it, because he was trying not to make his bust line the first thing people saw and okay, maybe he was hypersensitive, but it felt like the vest just enhanced his now apparent slightly hourglass figure.

Sometime between undoing the top button and the bottom one, Clint flashed behind his eyes and he decided maybe one extra purchase wasn’t really too extravagant. When Clint walked in on him barefoot and lounging on the couch, long legs crossed at the ankle, encased in rich fabric, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his collar unbuttoned and his vest tight and curving over his body, there was a distinct lack of complaining.

Their first op, just him and Clint, was an obvious softball, but at least it wasn’t desperately easy. There were difficult moments, Europe had its own special treatment of women and checking into a hotel room, even one with two beds, with Clint by his side made the clerks behind the counter give them about 3 times the knowing looks they used to get. Still, they were flawless.

They flew directly to the second op where Natasha and a larger team met them. This one was a standard two week deal, setup, play, take down. Only bumps were the occasional testosterone bullshit he usually had but required a slightly different plan of attack to smooth it out.

By the end of the third mission he, Clint and Natasha were all coming a little unglued. Their backup had been rotated out so at least they were fresh, but it seemed that despite a very large agency full of mostly competent people, there were a small slew of missions that apparently only they could handle. Which was a bullshit problem he was going to address soon. After about 40 hours of sleep.

Which was apparently not going to happen just yet, the fourth mission, was an emergency extraction for Sitwell’s team, who was also backlogged, because handing off Phil’s work had required a certain amount of clearance. That mission was a clusterfuck. A bleeding, cesspool, blood filled and rain soaked week of terror in the back streets of the Czech republic.

After that, they got two weeks. And 8 stitches between them.

Downtime was still mostly the same, only the no sex on missions rule meant that the downtime checklist included it at least three times. Clint was occasionally an optimist.

That didn’t stop them from slowly exploring each other when time allowed. After food, sleep, food and sleep, Phil pushed Clint back down into the bed and kissed his way to Clint’s half hard cock, exploring it carefully with his fingers first and then his mouth. He kissed the swollen, almost puffy head, carefully, licking at the skin. Flatteringly quickly, Clint began shaking with the tension of staying still.

“Hand on the lower half,” Clint told him, eyes huge with wonder, “so you can control the— yeah, like that.”

Phil could be a fast learner, when he wanted. And he wanted. Under him, Clint’s thighs trembled with tension as Phil carefully slid him in and out of his mouth until finally Clint cried out.

“Soon!”

Not quite ready to swallow, Phil pointed Clint’s cock towards Clint’s chest and pumped firmly, thumb swiping at the sensitive part under the head.

After, Clint went down on him until Phil was a strung out, sweaty mess of endorphins.

The next time, Clint handed him the lube and asked for a little exploration at the same time. Clint’s orgasm from that one left him shaking and triumphant. “Christ that’s gonna be good when we get to it.”

Phil was even pretty sure he agreed.

Six months in and they realized they had to talk about Phil’s apartment. They’d made a few midnight runs to collect the important bits that Phil wanted to have with him, but in general they decided that moving Phil’s long lost twin sister in for a while and then having her disappear wasn’t a good idea. Never mind that Clint wasn’t actually in a hurry for Phil to move out.

“Don’t move out,” was what Clint actually said.

“My stuff won’t fit in here.”

“So we both move?”

Phil sighed, “and when I change back we move again?”

They were silent for a while.

“We move later,” Phil said finally.

“What?”

“I’ll put my stuff into storage, after I change back, we can move.”

Clint’s face was closed off. “Are you sure? About after I mean, moving into a new neighborhood can be really public.”

Phil smiled, “I gave you a bullet hole riddled engagement gift, didn’t I?”

Clint’s eyes slid to the frame hanging on the far wall, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, okay, but I feel bad about your stuff.”

“So,” Phil said philosophically, “put some of yours in storage too?”

Clint huffed and kicked him in the shins. “You were aiming for that the whole time weren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

Fury only blinked a few times when Phil handed him his official change of residence forms. “I’m HR now?”

Phil maintained a bland expression. “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

Fury signed the paperwork where Belinda the file clerk usually signed it, dropped it in his outbox and then looked up to Phil his ‘and?’ look.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t surprised when we stop by city hall in a few months.”

“But that’s not legal,” was Fury’s automatic response.

Phil smiled and slipped his hands in his very excellently tailored pockets. “It is now.”

“This,” Fury said tiredly, “is why I stopped playing poker with you.”

“You think I’m bluffing?”

“No,” Fury corrected, “I think your anal retentive ability to hunt down all of the rules in any given situation and manage to follow them to the letter and still get what you want made playing any games with you mother fucking scary.”

Phil allowed his smile to broaden then, with a hint of satisfaction.

At nine months and 15 or so missions in, they dragged Natasha, Maria, Melinda, Jasper and Nick to downtown Manhattan and in a custom tailored pants and vest combination in off white with a deep blue shirt, unbuttoned just enough, he stood next to Clint, whose shoes were not scuffed and whose pants were not jeans and whose shirt was not a t-shirt but was actually purple, and exchanged rings. Phil’s was too large and he had to wear it on his middle finger and even then it could spin freely and would probably go on a chain for safety most times and be locked away for missions.

They had an early dinner, all seven of them, at some decadently expensive place in the financial district, that Nick paid for, without asking. They were sent off and told to take three days, and to remember to replenish their electrolytes occasionally, in a cab and whisked back to Brooklyn by a cabby who spent most of the drive alternatively congratulating them and critiquing Phil’s total lack of dress. Also he changed lanes without signaling.

They each apparently had a surprise for the other. So Phil went to the bathroom and Clint the bedroom respectively and locked the doors and changed. Phil reappeared wearing the only concession to his female body he’d ever make like this, a purple silk negligee with black lace edging that ended mid thigh. It had spaghetti straps and a flirty flip to the skirt. Under it he wore the harness, with the dildo snuggled up inside him.

He knocked on the bedroom door and waited for Clint’s muffled permission to enter. Inside he stopped in his tracks. Clint lay on the bed, propped on his side and head resting on his fist. His legs were encased in finely meshed fishnets that led up to black lace garters that disappeared under a pair of silk black panties, bulging only slightly obscenely with Clint’s half hard cock. On his feet were a pair of glossy black pumps.

“Jesus Christ,” Phil whispered.

“Ditto,” Clint said, licking his lips, “also, I’m pretty sure we are on exactly the same wavelength,” he nodded at the protrusion peeking out from under the nighty and then at the full bottle of lube on the bed.

Oh, they definitely were. 

Phil spent five solid minutes mouthing on Clint’s cock through the smooth fabric and listening to Clint make desperate noises before sliding it down Clint’s legs and then leaning back and appreciating the way the garters framed Clint’s flushed cock. They’d worked up three fingers in previous encounters and Clint seemed to have done some prep work on his own so it seemed like no time before Phil was on his knees, lining up with Clint’s hole and pushing smoothly inside while Clint made noises and clutched at his free hand.

When he couldn’t go in anymore, he looked up at Clint’s sweaty face. “Okay?”

“Christ,” Clint breathed out heavily from his nose, “Phil, I, this is, wait, let me move my— yes that. Okay, yes, I love you, now fuck me.”

The experience was raw in a way Phil had never experienced, the person under him, Clint, undone by Phil fucking him and in return, that knowledge undid him. He came so quickly and violently that he had to pause and catch his breath.

Clint took the opportunity to push up onto his elbows and explain how absolutely gorgeous Phil was at that moment, his negligee half off and a hint of nipple peaking out from under the silk and reached out for an awkward kiss. Eventually they got going again and Clint needed to reach his hands up to the headboard for leverage and Phil found himself letting his teeth graze the nearest piece of skin, Clint’s well muscled thighs there were folded up on top of him as Phil pounded down.

“Touch me,” Clint eventually begged, his body entirely flushed and slick with sweat but his eyes were bright and still trained entirely on Phil and between them Phil held Clint’s cock in his hands, stroking the hot skin but his coordination was lost and there was another build up inside him and he moved to get a better grip but then the angle shifted and it sparked something in the just the right way to tumble him over the top and he could do nothing but fuck through it, clutching at Clint’s body.

Pleasure suffused him but it was hard to give into it while Clint was still thrusting desperately, Phil was about to try to reach out again, with a shaking hand when Clint’s back bowed and Phil let his head fall, resting on Clint’s sternum as they fucked themselves through it.

After, Clint’s hands twitched involuntarily as they patted down Phil’s side and he murmured contentedly and holding Phil close. Phil held him right back.

Another four months, a handful of missions later and Phil was asked to pretend to be a pre-transition man trapped in a woman’s body. It was an uncomfortable suggestion all around and wasn’t helped by the fact that it was one of those joint CIA ventures. Those never went well. 

Walking in, just having been tapped for the part, made him more of a spectacle than an agent. Because he was tapped for undercover, he wasn’t even technically agent in charge. Clint and Natasha both demanded to go with him, unhappy with the attitude of the Agent who briefed them. Part of the problem was that if you didn’t know, you weren’t allowed to know, telling one or two people was one thing, but briefing an entire team from an outside agency was just not done.

He had to be talked into it and even then Natasha was assigned as his girlfriend. He wouldn’t go in alone and he wouldn’t trust the CIA with his safety. Natasha and Clint dressed him, they wrapped his chest and picked out the prosthetic to pack with. His clothes were altered into a more masculine style, Phil had given in to tailoring to his hips because it just fit better, but for this he would wear a different style.

It went to hell pretty damn quick, he and Natasha had spent three long evenings establishing themselves as new to the area, but posing as exactly the sort of couple their kingpin liked. Turned out some asswipe on a cigarette break was talking shit about this bitch who had to strap on to get with the big boys and one incredibly smart snitch/bus boy later and Phil was staring down at a knife protruding from his chest.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint yelled in his ear, “I’m killing everyone in that van, Tasha get him up to the carrier. No I will not listen to you assholes,” he was obviously no longer talking to them, “I’m exerting my shiny level 7 clearance and telling you all where to stick it, pull out and back and don’t get anyone killed.”

Natasha had the wound packed, or rather, some cloth napkins tucked tightly around the knife, quickly and was calling for an extraction to the helicarrier that was stationed nearby.

It went a bit hazy then, they moved him carefully, but was still jarring and the pain was intense and terrible and it was getting harder to breath.

Someone jabbed his thigh, probably pain killer, and he woke up in a white room with doctors standing over him.

“Agent Coulson,” someone said, “we’re worried that if we move the knife we’ll cause more damage than we can fix before we can get to you. We’re going to have to put you under and crack your chest very carefully before trying anything.”

The words floated in and out, it was hard to concentrate, around him people were humming and he was getting colder, someone was cutting off his clothes. 

“Clint,” he whispered, words sticking in his throat, “Clint can,” his chest was like a compressed balloon, unable to suck in more air, “decisions. Clint. Decisions.”

The doctor seemed to understand and mercifully a mask was put over his mouth and the world soon went black.

There were moments, flashes, lightness, dark, pain and fear. Clint’s hand in his, whispering carefully. A hand on his forehead. A kiss. A terrible yanking sensation from his chest and then waves of terror as he was shut up in a dark box.

Eventually, it he woke up, but he felt wrong.

“Phil?” A voice from his left and then Clint’s pale face swam into view. “Phil.”

“Hey,” his voice cracked, “what happened?”

He’d been shot. Well, shot along with stabbed but no one had noticed until they were cutting his clothes off and by then it was a big bloody mess and they’d barely started when his vitals tanked. That was when Dr. Robert’s assistant hit the intercom. The machine that had turned him into a woman had been deciphered. Not well enough to try it on a healthy human being, but well enough that his imminent death warranted a leap of faith. That’s never comforting coming from the scientists.

Turned out, the machine worked with a combination of matter conversion and previous templates. The theory was that no matter what shape he was in, they could instruct the machine to revert to a pre-existing template. Since they were doing it anyway, someone went ahead and chose the male template.

While Phil was sure that’s what he would have done himself, there was a bit of annoyance that it was decided for him. Karen told him that hadn’t been her call.

Still though, when Clint slipped his now fitting wedding ring on his finger, smiling that great big doofy smile, it was the best feeling in the world.

Recovery was quick, like the previous time, the change drained a lot of resourced he didn’t have but unlike last time, they managed to feed the machine a lot of base supplies, so there was no dehydration or any of that this time around. Just exhaustion. 24 hours later he and Clint were making their way back to their apartment and ordering Chinese food.

The rhythm fooled him and at the first uneven step he fumbled and it was like a record screeching to a halt. He was taller, he’d never kissed Clint at this height and their bodies pressed together differently and from the first press of lips he felt awkward and ungainly. Clint must have felt him freeze up because he clasped Phil’s hands and kept him from backing away.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Clint said squeezing his fingers, “close your eyes.”

Phil took a deep breath and followed directions, closing his eyes. First, it was just Clint’s hands, sliding up his arms and shoulders until they were cupping his face. Then it was the dry and gentle pressure of lips softly kissing him. They went and came back over and over again until Phil’s lips relaxed and then Clint pressed more firmly against his, opening gently, nibbling and sucking until Phil made a needy noise in the back of his throat and crashed their lips together, wrapping his arms around Clint and holding him close.

The thing of it was, as a woman, it had been amazing and beautiful and wondrous but now, back in his body, the one he’d known for decades, the one he’d spent many bitterly disappointed nights in wondering what was wrong, wondering if he’d ever be desperate enough to think about the alternatives he understood that those words had been misused out of ignorance. There was a sensation, of things slotting into rightness and he and Clint had fit together well before, but now it was like a seamless joint, two halves coming together to become whole and so damn right it almost brought tears to his eyes.

He was trembling when they parted and there _were_ tears in his eyes. “My god,” he whispered, stroking Clint’s face. “I mean seriously,” he let out a breathless laugh, “my god.”

Clint smiled softly and reached up to take Phil’s hands again. “I told you so.”

Phil smiled, feeling giddy, “Shut up, Clint,” he said taking a deep breath and shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, his heart suddenly feeling lighter than it had in years. He whooped in joy, shocking Clint into laughter and then kissed him again, full of happiness.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said into Phil’s mouth.

FIVE YEARS LATER, 36 HOURS POST AVENGERS MOVIE

******

 

The conversation with Clint went something like this:

“Oh thank god.”

“Ditto, sir.” Clint’s voice was rough, tired. 

“They want me for 24 hours, standard protocol.”

“I’ll brief the team.”

“I love you.”

“That’s because I’m awesome.”

“No, not really.”

“Aww, sir.”

****

The conversation with the Avengers was more complicated.

There was angry yelling and Clint had to shout them down several times before they would listen. “No one knew until later! Even Fury. It was a long shot. The guy who came up with the idea was doing triage—”

Stark opened his mouth but Clint headed him off.

“Because that’s what we have MDs and trained professionals do during a crisis where their department isn’t directly needed, that’s why Stark.”

Clint could see Cap and Bruce winding up next. “Also it was a long shot and there was a lot going on. I got the call as soon as possible.”

Stark was going to get going again.

“Because he wanted to talk to me,” Clint snapped, nerves fraying just a little, Stark hadn’t known Phil’s name until about 12 hours earlier, “last he heard I had been compromised, we’ve known each other for 15 years.” 

Thankfully before anyone else could ask annoying questions, JARVIS broke in. “Agent Barton?” JARVIS called to him.

“Yes?”

“A person saying they are Agent Coulson is requesting access.”

Clint smirked and covered it with a cough, “It’s okay JARVIS, it’s him.”

“But sir—”

“I know JARVIS,” Clint said, “it’s a long story, but it’s him.” Next to him Natasha gave him a knowing look, but said nothing.

By then, everyone was also looking at him and he couldn’t have a better setup if he tried. The direct elevator was fast and soon Phil walked in and all sound stopped. Then it began again, all at once until Clint whistled loudly. They approached each other slowly and Phil caught Clint’s relieved smile as he did a circle around him.

“Well,” Clint said, holding back a giddy tide of laughter when he was back in front instead reaching for that bored look Phil did so well, “you know, I only remembered to remove the spermicide from the shopping list like 2 months ago?”

Beneath the veneer of indifference and mild amusement, Clint could see the great gusts of euphoria Phil was hiding in his eyes. It filled his chest and softened his face. Phil tilted his head in non-sympathy. “Yeah well, my wedding ring doesn’t fit me anymore. Again.”

“Okay,” Stark finally got a word in edgewise, “I think I speak for everyone when I say; what the actual fuck?”

Clint side eye’d Steve, “You too?”

Steve, who had spent the last few months being continually surprised by the future looked pretty calm and a little amused at their show. “Yeah, for once, Stark got it right.”

“Hey! How can I be the only one who thinks that Legolas’ boyfriend, someone who I remember being a man, is well, a girl! With breasts and—”

“Don’t finish that,” Phil interrupted. “And we prefer differently gendered spouse.”

Clint nearly lost it then, but Phil had made it to his side by then and had twisted his pinky sharply. 

“Is this why,” Steve asked Stark, “there are no flying cars? Because I was promised flying cars. By your father.”

“Are you sassing me?” Stark began, only to be interrupted, again, this time by Bruce, who was laughing.

“Oh my god,” Bruce chuckled, “I remember this paper, on matter transference and transmogrification and I kept thinking I was missing something classified. This was it wasn’t it?”

Stark smacked a nearby table, “I remember that paper too! It was gibberish! At the time I thought it was the alcohol!”

Next to him, Phil stuck his elbow out to get his attention.

“Yeees?”

“I just realized,” Phil said out the side of his mouth, “we both didn’t die.”

Clint’s jaw clicked shut and contemplated Phil. “Truuue.

“So I was thinking,” Phil said, “do you still have the thing?” he made a few emphatic gestures.

“The thing?” Clint frowned, watched Phil make a few more gestured before the light dawned, “Oh. The THING. Yes. I kept that. Souvenir and all. I was thinking of getting it bronzed actually.”

Phil made a face that indicated deep thought. “Hmm, I never thought I’d be glad you were so bad at crossing things off lists.”

“I keep telling you, I’m awesome.”

“I keep telling you, things aren’t true just because you keep saying them.”

“Yeah but, I also still have the,” he gestured at his legs and then popped onto his toes a few times, “also.”

“Huh,” Phil stared at him for a few seconds, “maybe you are a little awesome.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony whined, “this is like listening to my parents.”

They shared a sedate high five.

Natasha, who had always had a good understanding of showmanship stepped up to Phil and hugged him hard. “You know I helped both of you shop for that night, right?”

Clint watched Phil go bright red, though to be fair, his own face felt extraordinarily hot as well. “Tasha, uncool.”

Phil shook his head mournfully, “The girl code is a lie, this was the big secret I learned in those 14 months. It’s a great lie.”

“But,” Natasha said shrewdly, “you should talk to Pepper about The Great Pocket Conspiracy.”

“Okay,” Clint said, worried about the look that came over Phil’s face, “we’ll be leaving now, for our house, which is away from here, where Phil won’t be tempted to team up with Pepper Potts to take over the fashion industry. Also,” he gave Phil a pointed look, “Bedroom. The Thing.”

Stark made a pained nose, “Oh my god, stop talking about it in capital letters. Just, please, I’ll pay you.”

Phil’s eyes sharpened and Clint could see him weight the cons of being unprofessional and alluding to his sex life and the pros of making Tony uncomfortable.

Clint tugged at Phil’s hand, “Come on, decide on how to mentally scar Tony later.”

Phil gave an oppressed huff. “Fine.” 

Clint wasn’t fooled though, because Phil was the one who tangled their fingers together and tugged him away from his team and into the elevator. Then before it could close, he asked, because he did love Phil, just loud enough for the rest of the Avengers to hear, “Does this mean I can’t call you ma’am anymore?”

Tony’s pained, ”Oh my god!” could be heard even through the doors.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are many of you who were really interested in the other side of this story, that is Phil having to face the decisions he made when socially it was easier on him. That's the sequel. There was some debate about whether that belonged in this story or if it was a separate one. After some thought I decided that this emotional arc was over and that the next one deserved its own story. As I said in the beginning, it's about 1/3 written and 5/6ths plotted and there are seeds in this story of chunks of the plotline in that one. I hope you enjoyed the ride, I enjoyed having you!

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:  
> 1\. They have sex while one of them is a woman. I think it's pretty obvious based on the tags and the summary but hey, let me say it here too. So please no one try and yell at me about 'surprise vaginas'. They exist. 
> 
> 2\. **Trigger warning:** There is some frank discussion about female agents and females in general and the statistics they live they lives with. (Rape stats)
> 
> 3\. **Trigger warning:** There is a creeper subplot which did trigger a reader who had problems in that area but his actions are mostly gas lighting and unwanted hands in mostly innocuous places.
> 
> 4\. There's actually a sequel already started. It takes place almost immediately after this one ends, though before the epilogue. It's about 1/3 done but on the list of things to do, it's not NEXT, but it is soon.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Don't call me Tiresias (I'm just as blind as you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875846) by [Insidious Inkstains (sidneybelveire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneybelveire/pseuds/Insidious%20Inkstains)




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